


Hereditary

by Arowen12



Series: Blood of the Covenant [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Beholding, Compulsion, Gen, Ghosts, Jon is Gertrude's Son, Jon's college band, Longing, M/M, Manipulation, Morally Grey Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 57,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arowen12/pseuds/Arowen12
Summary: Gertrude Robinson never had a chance the moment she decided to keep him.Jon is born with a hunger that isn’t human, with too many eyes that linger beneath the surface of his skin waiting, watching.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims, Jonathan Sims & Gertrude Robinson, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Blood of the Covenant [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750216
Comments: 143
Kudos: 452





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I am here with the sequel, y'all convinced me to write it. This is an AU so some canon divergence ahead and I find it prudent to tell you that Mama by My Chemical Romance is the theme song for this fic. Anyway read on and enjoy!

Jon has always been a curious person, since the very first moment he came screaming and crying into the world, he has been curious. That curiosity has manifested in many different ways over the years, languages, history, science, and the occult. He’s always been curious and he’s always Known why. Or at least, he’s Known for quite some time.

His mother, she asks him to call her grandmother to protect them both and Jon agrees shapes the words that don’t sit right in his mouth in front of the other kids and the teachers. When he’s asked, he says his parents died when he was young and that he doesn’t remember them.

He never had a choice.

Jon Knows that his mother made a deal with an entity, promised him to it like some arranged marriage, a being beyond the scope of human comprehension. Jon has known since he was cognizant enough to recognise what an eye is and feel them watching him everywhere, all the time. Pressed into the walls, staring out from the skulls of strangers who don’t care about a kid but can’t help but watch him.

Gertrude Robinson never had a chance the moment she decided to keep him.

Jon is born with a hunger that isn’t human, with too many eyes that linger beneath the surface of his skin waiting, watching. Tucked into her womb Jon listened as his mother read statement after statement and he fed on them, grew on them in the same way one grows on love.

The hunger is abated in the early years of his existence, there is too much to absorb, to see, to Know. How the world functions around him is dazzling, sweet on his tongue like the finest of delights. The Eye knows, and the Eye delights with him (sometimes he sees the Eye staring out from behind his mother’s skull).

Gertrude Robinson was never a caring mother, that isn’t to say she didn’t care, she did. But it was a distant sort of love, one born of loss and fear of what Jon could be, what he will be. He sees sometimes the fear lurking there in her eyes as Jon reads books far above his age level, picks up languages with ease, and asks questions that she is compelled to answer.

In the schoolyard Jon picks out the children who are too quiet, the ones that are too loud, he consumes their stories (children _See_ where others don’t and often forget it) and they follow him like he is their saviour. The teachers answer his questions, ones that have nothing to do with the lessons, and they tell his mother he is a brilliant child trying to hide the fear; they can sense something _other_ to Jon.

He is an independent child. Jon comes home more often than not to an empty apartment his mother still at work and likely to be late into the night. There are no sitters, just a phone and the neighbour across the hall who checks on him, she is a kind old lady who’s been claimed by Filth but doesn’t seem to notice. Jon spends the nights alone, he reads, watches from the windows the people below, he learns to cook through trial and error.

His mother starts bringing stacks of books home, anything from Dickens to children’s books, it’s irritating in that there is no care or reason to what appears in the stacks. Jon smiles gleefully nonetheless and rips through book after book, its not enough to satisfy the craving deep in his chest.

Jon is shifting through another stack when his fingers brush over one brightly coloured (too bright, garish) book and his fingers tingle as if little shocks of lightning are gathering beneath them. He drags his fingers over the smooth glossy cover and reads the cover _A Visit for Mister Spider._

A children’s book, but no, not quite a normal one. On the inside embossed in pressed gold are the words _From the Library of Jurgen Leitner_ , it tingles inside his head a spark of Knowing that isn’t fully formed or fully-fledged.

Jon starts reading in one of the small parks near the apartment, each word like a strand of web binding him tighter and tighter to the book, drawing him in, ensnaring him as the spider catches the fly (there are more than 45,000 known species of spiders). Something knocks into Jon, a man with all the grease of adolescence clinging to him as he plucks the book from Jon’s hands.

He watches. Watches as the man reads his feet moving of his own accord down the street, Jon imagines he can see webs twining themselves around the man’s hands where they are attached to the glossy pages. He knocks on a door; it is not the door to his house and Jon Knows this. He watches as a long spindly and hairy leg wraps around the man and pulls him inside. That is the last Jon ever sees of him.

Sometimes people just disappear. Didn’t his mother say that? Or maybe it is something he Knows (sometimes the boundaries between Knowing and knowing grow thin and tangled).

His mother is home when Jon stumbles into their apartment, her lips pinch in realisation and she tucks Jon against her side, runs her fingers through his dark hair. They are different, so different, they hardly look related though Jon has her quiet disposition and the dimples he’s certain are from her.

He asks and she explains, haltingly as if the words are pulled from her, bitter and horrid. Jon swallows them down, they settle the hunger, and he slots what he knows about the world around this new information until it is one and the same.

He has been touched by the Web, Jon takes this information and tucks it away somewhere. He searches out statements in the streets, watching the busy crowds of people knowing his mother won’t be home till late (or that she is on a business trip in an attempt to stop yet another ritual).

In grocery stores, libraries, parks, and in the classroom, he consumes statements. At night he watches the statements in his dreams, he is always watching.

Jon grows from a gangly adolescent into a lanky young man with limbs that feel too long and yet not quite tall enough as he moves through university. He sits in lecture halls on the Esoteric, on the Supernatural, spends hours in the libraries combing through whichever text tingles beneath his fingers, the spines calling to him, the words like honey on his tongue.

He is lonely, though he does not feel it. How can one feel lonely when that is all they’ve known?

And then there is Georgie, beautiful death-touched, Georgie, who drags him into bars (where he consumes statements in the bathrooms stalls in a mimicry of pleasure) and when she presses lyrics into his hands, whispers about a band, he follows her lead.

She doesn’t care that he isn’t interested in sex, she presses kisses to his lips and to the faint impression on his forehead and when he asks, she feeds him her statement in the darkness of their room. Their band is an escape, from Jon, from Knowing, when the audience looks at him it is not the Eye, just Jon and his voice.

They break up, it’s amicable, Georgie pats his arm and tells him they’re just not a good fit romantically. They stay friends though and it’s nice, to have a friend. The other band members are his friends too he supposes and they don’t care when Jon tells Tim his guitar’s untuned before he plays it or when he tells them how many people will be there before the show even starts.

His mother rolls her eyes at him and murmurs about a rebellious phase when Jon turns his music up too loud or heads off for brand practice. Jon just shakes his head and asks about her Assistants (Gone almost all gone).

Gerard Keay, call me Gerry, has badly died black hair with pale roots, too many piercing to count, and broad shoulders, he’s about the same age as Jon but nearly double his height. Gertrude watches the two of them for the kitchen table as if waiting to prevent a murder.

They talk about My Chemical Romance until Gertrude retreats into her office and then they talk about their moms. Gerry’s statement is sweet on his tongue, he is touched by the Eye, they both are, and the words fall like tears between them until there are tears on Jon’s cheeks and Gerry leans forward and wipes them away with his fingers, gentle.

His mom frowns when Jon tells her he is applying to the institute, there is nowhere else for him to go really. What is he supposed to do? An office job, work at a bakery, a checkout at a supermarket? Jon is curious, has always been curious and he knows where he needs to be.

Elias Bouchard stares at Jon with eyes that don’t belong to him, or maybe it is a body that doesn’t belong to those eyes. He feels _Seen_ and yet not, he has been bound to the Eye since his birth on a promise and the Eye does not break its promises.

At the end of the interview, Elias smiles it doesn’t sit quite right and shakes Jon’s hands he says, “I think you’ll fit in here very well Mr. Simms.”

Jon agrees and feels the eyes watching his retreat until he leaves the building. Outside, the sensation stops and Jon smiles, Elias may be the heart of the institute but Jon cannot be _Seen,_ not unless he wants to be.

Jon breathes against Gerry’s lips and feels the touch of the Eye he ignores it. It’s a mistake he doesn’t repeat.

He Knows the moment Gerry dies, a brain tumour, if he had mentioned it before it wouldn’t have been deadly, but now Gerry’s dead. He calls his mom, already knows what she’s going to do with the Leitner in her possession and tells her to bring him back.

At the doorway he silently takes the book from Gertrude’s hands, she is pale but that is all, this is after all, for the Greater Good, isn’t it? The pages of the book hum beneath Jon’s fingers and Gerry is half translucent and so sad. There’s no anger in this death, just the grief of betrayal of trust, they both know she didn’t do it for Jon.

Jon has never been close to his mother but he still helps her, when she asks, he tells her what he _Knows_ , helps with ending whichever ritual she is focused on (he enjoys telling her which publishers will help with the Lonely). At night, over cups of tea warmed in the microwave they theorize about Elias Bouchard, about the Eye, about the rituals.

When the tape brushes against his fingers Jon exhales shakily and Knows, feels the emptiness in his chest where she was. Her voice, always so stern, like a sheathed blade, plays through the air as Jon drags his fingers through his hair and listens. The rituals don’t need to be stopped, they never needed to be stopped.

Elias Bouchard and Jonah Magnus, the Panopticon, and finally the sound of a gunshot.

Jon cradles his forehead, rubbing his fingers gently over the faint impression there which his mother used to rub her fingers over when he was sick. She is gone. He can’t even muster the feelings of surprise; it has always felt as if she was balanced on a tight rope wire and now, she is _gone._

For a moment, Jon fears that with Gertrude’s death he will be _Seen_ , that all her enemies (so many, too many) will scent their shared blood on the air. The Eye brushes against his senses a denial, he is still safe, for the given value of the word.

Jon goes into work the next day and in the foyer, he glances up at Jonah Magnus and feels something icy and slick slip into his chest, it is a cold sort of hatred. He may not have known his mother well, she wasn’t the best mother, but she still cared, and Jonah Magnus will pay.

Two weeks later he’s promoted to Head Archivist. It feels good, _right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, it's a bit more of a prologue the next chapter will be season 1. Comments are always super appreciated, thank you!!


	2. Part the First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I'm back with the next chapter! A huge thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter. This one centres around season 1 of TMA. Also, there's a bit of a tonal shift from the first chapter just to let you know. Read on and enjoy!

The Archives are a mess. Jon shouldn’t be surprised where he stands on the threshold staring at the shelves stacked with boxes, statements, research, and other sheaves of paper seem to stick out from every surface as if taunting Jon with Gertrude’s complete lack of filing system.

In her defence, by the end, she had no assistants just Sasha from research who would help with her cases. Still, Jon mourns the next few months of trying to file everything. He knows why Gertrude organized or rather didn’t organize everything, but Jon is the Archivist and he won’t leave the Archives in disarray.

Behind him, Tim whistles staring at the Archives with a grimace as Sasha scoffs beside him crossing her arms over her chest, Martin hovers awkwardly behind them trying to see into the Archives. Jon sighs and rubs a hand over his face before he steps inside, he can feel the Eye watching him with something like pleasure, or maybe a sense of _finally._

“Didn’t know Gertrude was so bad at organising everything,” Tim states planting his hands on his hips as he glances around the room, taking everything in.

Jon shakes his head glancing over his shoulder at his assistants, they are so young, so unaware, Jon doubts it will last for long. Sasha, Jon knows, is at least more familiar with the supernatural than the others, plenty competent (if Jon hadn’t been chosen she would have made an excellent Archivist). Tim, Jon can tell, was touched by the Stranger, a part of him hungers for that statement but he tries his best to respect the boundaries of those he works with. Still, Tim is charming and intelligent, Jon enjoyed working in research with him and if he had to choose anyone it would be Tim.

And then there’s Martin. Jon will admit the man isn’t his first choice, not by a long-shot, anxious, not particularly adept at his job. But Jon supposes Martin also isn’t his last choice and he’s made a promise he won’t treat his assistants like his mother. Humans aren’t disposable, they’re not chess pieces to be used until they’re useless and then sacrificed.

“She wasn’t,” Sasha protests quietly with a frown pushing her hair out of her eyes, Jon can feel her watching him, judging him, weighing him. That’s fair, he supposes, the promotion should have gone to her, would have gone to her in another world.

“Going senile in her old age?” Tim teases lightly and it sits somewhere deep inside Jon’s chest, the place where his mother once was and his hands clench into fists for a precious few seconds before he exhales. They don’t know, none of them do.

Turning around, Jon studies his assistants for a long moment before he says, “We have quite a lot of work to do,” Jon pauses thinking for a moment before he continues, “The files we can digitize I’d like you all to work on those, they will likely be the ones with little veracity. Any of the statements that won’t digitize should be sent to me, those we’ll organize separately.”

“Hang on, why won’t some files digitize?” Martin questions still glancing around the Archives, he wonders if his assistants can feel the Eye watching them, and distantly Elias has half an eye on them waiting to see what will become of them. Jon will have to deal with that, Elias may see where he wishes but the Archives are Jon’s domain.

Jon glances at Sasha who comments simply, “Gertrude recorded a few of the statements on a tape recorder, but mostly she just took written ones.”

“As you are all working in the Archives you all need to know that the supernatural exists,” Jon says casually, surveying their faces, Sasha nods in acceptance, Tim has a frown touched with something like resignation, and Martin nods along, he continues, “The statements that won’t digitize are those that are more than likely true. As such we’ll be using a different filing system for those ones.”

“Wait true?” Sasha questions crossing her arms over her chest and staring at Jon.

He nods once and replies, “Like I said, the supernatural exists. I’m sure over the course of working in the Archives, you’ll unfortunately all become rather intimately familiar with it.”

“And how are you familiar with-it boss? You didn’t exactly seem to believe most of what we researched,” Tim questions striding over to claim one of the empty desks, there are a stack of statements piled onto the thing which Tim ignores as he settles in the rolling chair.

He can feel the attention of his assistants at the question, what is he supposed to say? He’s been bound to an eldritch fear God since birth? It probably wouldn’t go over well. Jon shrugs and with a tilt of his head replies, “I’ve always believed in the supernatural. My m-parents, they were involved with the Magnus Institute though rather distantly.”

The answer seems to satisfy their curiosity and Jon breathes out a faint sigh of relief and surveys the Archives, his Archives once more for a long moment before he says, “We can have a team meeting about organization later today. For now, feel free to familiarize yourself with the Archives.”

Before anyone can protest, Jon turns and walks into Gertrude’s office shutting the door behind him with a click. For a long moment, Jon leans back against the door his eyes shut and just the sound of his own breathing filling the room. It’s not really a question of whether he’s ready, Jon’s always been ready, you could even say he’s been born ready, he chokes back bitter laughter at the thought.

It just feels strange that this, the Archives, are finally within reach but only at the cost of his own mother. He still feels as if he hasn’t grieved properly, doesn’t know how to grieve her properly. He’s shed tears and drunk a bottle of whiskey to her memory does that count?

Sighing, Jon runs a hand through his hair and opens his eyes.

Gertrude’s office is actually rather organized compared to the rest of the Archives, on the desk, there are a few open folders, shelves stacked with boxes and a collection of books, a window high at the back lets in a few faint slants of sunlight. Jon glances at the desk, for a moment he can imagine his mother there taking statements with a gimlet eye, or sipping a mug of tea with one of her assistants.

He can also imagine the blood on the floor that the cleaners have probably scrubbed out. Is this where Elias stood when he shot her?

Jon sucks in a ragged breath and blinks away the image the Eye has oh so helpfully supplanted in his head. He doesn’t know what Elias wants but whatever it is Jon’s not going to sit idly by. Glaring at the eye embossed into the wall Jon walks carefully forward, hears the dull chatter of his assistants in the main room, he’s hired a bunch of gossips apparently, and settles carefully in the chair. It feels like coming home.

Reaching out Jon plucks the first statement off the desk he sees, runs his fingers carefully over the paper, the words carefully jotted down. A tape recorder clicks on and Jon glances at the corner of the desk where it sits spooling tape. His eyes crinkle slightly and with a shake of his head he begins, “Statement of…”

“I could listen to your voice for hours,” Gerry says spooled over one of the chairs at his desk, legs hanging off the side, and a cigarette twining smoke into the air. Jon isn’t sure if it counts as a fire hazardous considering it doesn’t technically exist.

He processes Gerry’s words and feels a familiar heat rush to his cheeks as he glances at the statement he’s just finished; the tape is still softly crackling away but Jon leaves it for the moment and just glares at Gerry. The man (ghost?) shrugs idly tapping his cigarette with one finger before he adds, “But that’s not why you summoned me, much as I appreciate it darling.”

“Maybe I just wanted some company,” Jon replies casually, rising to his feet and placing the statement in one marked Corruption, there’s been quite a few turning up on his desk recently and Jon’s stomach sits uncomfortably and what it might mean.

“What about your assistants?” Gerry responds with a huff and then adds with a teasing grin, “Oh right I forgot, we’re trying to be all professional. Why are you trying to be all professional Jon? You’re horrible at it, in fact, you’re just downright mean. Poor Martin, I swear he thinks you’re going to bite your head off.”

Jon glares at Gerry for a long moment and just for good measure flips him the bird before he flops into his desk chair with a groan and scrubs a hand over his face. Gerry waits expectantly, one brow raised and the cigarette in his head glowing cherry red.

“I don’t want them to get too close,” Jon admits softly and then adds, “I-I try not to snap at him, but sometimes,” Jon shakes his head with a sigh and continues, “Well, I went to the pub with them the other night, that counts for something right?”

Gerry makes a vague sound of agreement before he goes for the kill and says, “You don’t want to get close to them in case you lose them? Or because you don’t want them to figure out how much of a ‘monster’ you are. Which, by the way, I’m not sure how many times I have to tell you this Jon, but you are _not_ a monster.”

The words sit between them for a moment before Jon grunts and replies sharply, “In case you didn’t notice, I eat statements and have a third eye.”

“You also take the time to reassure each of the statement givers, and you care. Jon, please don’t be so disparaging about my taste in men,” Gerry replies with a twist of his lips and if he wasn’t dead, God if he wasn’t dead, Jon knows Gerry would reach across the space between them and cup Jon’s jaw force him to look into his eyes until he believed him.

But he is dead.

Jon just nods in agreement, not really believing it. They both know and Gerry crosses his arms over his chest with a sullen expression and asks, “So, did you need something or were you looking for a row?”

He shuffles the papers on his desk in silence for a few seconds ignoring Gerry before he finally says, “I Know some of the statements are connected but I’m not quite sure how or why yet. There’s still pieces missing.”

“And you can only do so much at one time,” Gerry says agreeably with a frown glancing around Gertrude’s office, he still thinks of it as her office, can’t shake the lingering presence she’s left behind.

Jon nods and lets his head rest on his desk, at the moment he’d really like a mug of tea or maybe a nap as he mumbles, “I’m worried, a lot of Corruption statements have been turning up. I’m not sure if it’s the Eye or Elias.”

Gerry grimaces and says lowly, “I hate the Corruption, especially the hives.”

Jon grunts in agreement right as there’s a knock on the door. Gerry rolls his eyes and stubs out his cigarette on Jon’s chair as with a wave of Jon’s fingers he dematerialises, the faint scent of the cigarette lingers and Jon itches for one even though it’s been years.

“Come in,” Jon calls out and the door creaks open (all the doors remained unoiled no matter how much Tim complains) admitting Martin, who is wearing a large knit sweater and is carrying two mugs in his hands.

“Tea?” Martin asks hopeful and hesitant at the same time.

“Please,” Jon says quietly and Martin’s expression brightens as he sets the mug carefully on Jon’s desk. He resists the urge to immediately lace his fingers around the ceramic and absorb the heat.

Martin glances around the office for a moment with a furrowed brow before he questions, “Was there someone else here? I could have sworn I heard another voice.”

Jon supposes Martin wouldn’t believe an excuse about Jon’s extra-curricular drama activities, instead, he shrugs and says, “That was Gerry.”

“Oh of course, Gerry?” Martin asks as he stares with wide eyes at Jon and glances at the door. Jon can almost hear Martin’s thought process, wondering if he’d seen someone enter Jon’s office, certain he saw no one leave it.

“He’s an assistant,” Jon replies and he won’t lie and say he’s not enjoying this. They’ve discussed it and Gerry is fine with the others knowing about his existence, in the long run, it would probably make things easier.

“A research assistant?” Martin questions and sips at his tea expression scrunched up, kind of cute, in confusion.

“No, an Archive assistant,” Jon says and takes a sip of his own tea muffling a smile into the hot liquid. He will admit Martin makes an excellent mug of tea and by now he’s noticed that Jon likes copious amounts of sugar in said tea which is even better.

“Jon as far as I know, there’s only the three of us?” Martin questions carefully, he looks almost concerned like he thinks Jon’s hit his head and is likely suffering from a concussion.

“On the payroll yes, you can’t really pay someone who’s dead,” Jon replies sensibly and sets his tea down to carefully sort through the papers on his desk. The office might once have been clean but it is certainly not any longer.

“Dead?” Martin asks, the word trips from his mouth with a crackle and Jon glances up in concern at his assistant who looks like he can’t decide whether to believe Jon or to be concerned for him.

“If you’d like I can introduce you all?” Jon replies and Martin nods dully for a moment and walks out into the main office.

“What’s this Martin’s saying about a new assistant, boss?” Tim asks as he strides inside and leans against the wall. He is followed by Sasha who settles in the chair staring at Jon with narrow eyes, Martin follows glancing nervously at Jon.

“Technically, he’s an old assistant,” Jon replies as he opens his desk drawer and pulls out the Leitner, the leather smooth beneath his fingers as he settles it on the desk.

“What did Martin mean when he said dead?” Sasha asks carefully, underneath the scepticism Jon can detect a hint of concern and it warms his chest that they even care. He knows he hasn’t been the kindest boss but he still tries.

“Hi,” Gerry says as he materializes in the other chair, translucent and soft around the edges as he waves and continues, “You must be Jon’s assistants, I’m Gerard Keay.”

“Like-“

“Yes,” Jon interrupts Sasha before she can finish that question and he glances at Gerry’s face, catches the way his expression twists into a grimace before he carefully smoothes it away. Glancing briefly at the book Jon explains, “This is a Leitner, one that can be used to bound those to it after death.”

“Jon, did you?” Martin questions aghast, pale, and shaken.

“No, Gertrude did,” Gerry replies crossing his arms over his chest and staring at Jon, silently telling Jon that it’s okay. He can’t stop the guilt bubbling inside his chest, he could have prevented this, Gerry could still be alive if it wasn’t for him.

“Gertrude?” Tim questions, Jon is reminded suddenly that most people saw her as a doddering elderly woman and not the cold ruthless woman she was.

Gerry frowns mutinously and replies, “Though I would be of more use this way.”

“If it’s not insensitive,” Martin begins hands fidgeting before he continues, “When did you die?”

“2014, brain tumour,” Gerry replies with a shrug, mostly ambivalent about his actual death, he glares at Jon before he can start being all guilty again and Jon rolls his eyes and drags his hand through his hair.

“So, you must know a lot about the supernatural,” Sasha questions carefully, and Jon can see her studying Gerry’s tattoos, the way the eyes curl around his joints, mark him as belonging to the Beholder, letting him See.

Gerry nods and pulls out a cigarette, it lights immediately and he sticks it into the corner of his mouth as he replies, “Yeah, mom was insistent on a family legacy,” he glances at Jon and winks before continuing, “Course not a fan of that,” he mutters, “Fucking hate Leitner,” louder he says, “So, I started helping Gertrude, and now here I am.”

“Is there any way to release him?” Martin asks, always so kind, Jon worries sometimes about how that kindness might be used against him.

“There is,” Gerry replies glancing at the book for a long moment before he says, “But I don’t mind sticking around for now. You all obviously need some help down here.”

“Jon is this where you learned about the fourteen fears?” Sasha questions carefully, glancing from Jon to Gerry.

“Nah he already knew about that long before he met me,” Gerry says with a wink and Jon rolls his eyes and fixes him with a warning glare.

“So, can you float through walls?” Tim asks curiously, and Jon rolls his eyes, it appears they’ve landed on the more fantastical and important questions.

Gerry nods and Tim grins and says, “Wicked.”

“If you are all done questioning our resident ghost?” Jon asks and when Tim has the wherewithal to look guilty and Martin smiles apologetically, he continues, “Sasha, a statement giver should be here in a few minutes. Martin, any new leads on the Prentiss case?”

“I hate when you do that, Jon,” Sasha says with a roll of her eyes half fond as she rises to her feet and with a nod to Gerry exits his office.

“Nothing yet Jon, though I’ve looked through a few of the files and added them to the corruption section,” Martin replies and then adds, “I’ll get on that now and have it to you by the end of the day.”

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon says with a faint smile and watches as Martin blushes and practically flees the room, he turns his attention to Tim who grins with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, go charm the landlord for that case with the table. Where do you think it is now boss?” Tim asks tilting his head as he unlaces his arms and pushes off the wall pausing in the doorway.

“I imagine with another unfortunate victim,” Jon replies and Gerry huffs in agreement as Tim exits his office leaving the two of them alone.

“I hate the not-them,” Gerry says with a roll of his eyes and then adds with a pointed finger, “You ruin all my fun.”

“You can go answer their questions later, there really is a statement giver walking through the door,” Jon replies with a fond shake of his head. Gerry is gone one moment and the next the faint scent of cigarettes still filling the air as the door opens and Sasha ushers in a woman with dark hair and grey eyes.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Hearne why don’t you take a seat?” Jon begins and nods to Sasha as the woman settles carefully across from him. He can feel the touch of the Lonely around her and that part of him that hungers for Statements croons in appreciation.

“Statement of Naomi Hearne regarding her fiancé’s funeral…”

They’re all sitting in the Archives’ breakroom, it’s close to the end of the day and they’ve just wrapped up a statement that was far from easy. Jon is curled into the couch cushions, it’s a lumpy couch that sags in the corners and smells faintly of garlic. He watches, a mug of tea in his hands, as Sasha, Tim and Martin sit at the small table, they’re talking about a new movie Jon thinks but he’s not certain. He’s never been well connected to the modern world whether through a fault of his mother or his own he doesn’t quite know.

He listens again hears Sasha say, “My sister is insistent on me coming to the reunion even though I’d have to take a week off. Family can be the worst sometime.”

Tim nods along and Martin huffs a sad laugh and says, “Yeah.”

As if sensing his gaze Tim turns, leaning one arm over the top of the chair as he pins Jon with his eyes and asks, “What about you Jon? Got any family we don’t know about? A secret twin brother?”

Jon purses his lips, they all know he’s a private guy, but this he thinks, he doesn’t mind answering, “I was raised by my grandmother, unfortunately, she passed away a few years ago.”

It is almost true and the lie sits heavy on his tongue for a long moment. Heavy as the atmosphere of the room at that particular piece of information. Jon almost feels regret that he’s lying to his assistants (like how Gertrude treated Michael, his mind whispers), but Jon can’t risk Elias or any other entity Knowing.

Glancing at his watch Jon rises to his feet swaying for a moment as gravity reasserts itself before he dumps his mug in the sink. The topic of conversation has moved on, subdued, about some other pleasantry of a Friday afternoon.

“You can all head home early,” Jon says pausing in the doorway to stare at his assistants drinking them in for a sharp moment.

“Got plans, boss?” Tim asks with a wink even as Sasha smiles pleased and rises to her feet, Martin glances between Jon and Tim with a strange expression.

“Meeting a few friends from college,” Jon replies and can’t stop the way his expression slips soft and fond on his face. There’s energy humming beneath his skin and it’s a pleasant contrast to the sort of dull weariness the Archives instils.

“Well colour me surprised, our dear boss has a social life,” Tim says teasingly, pointing dramatically at Jon.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head knows that Sasha has a date, Tim is going kayaking, and Martin has plans to work on his poetry, maybe go to a slam, he doesn’t mean to Know, he just does. He calls out, “Have a good weekend everyone. On Monday we’ll start work on the Vittery case.”

“You keep a lot of secrets Jon,” Gerry says half-floating beside him as Jon walks through the hallway towards his office, he’ll need a few statements for the weekend. Already, Jon can feel a sort of hunger, or maybe just a drain when he doesn’t have a proper statement in a few days. Of course, there’s nothing better than live statements and while Jon has certain moral quandaries, he’s already accepted he’s a bit of a monster.

“I can feel your self-loathing from here,” Gerry says and it sounds teasing but underneath it, it’s just sad.

Jon exhales long and slow and asks, “Going to watch the show?”

“Always,” Gerry says with a grin.

Jon glances at his phone, he glances back at his statement, glances at his phone again. Martin is fine, Jon tells himself this again, it’s been his mantra for the past hour and he thinks he can almost believe it. Almost.

He Knows something is wrong.

With a frustrated sigh, Jon rises from the desk, his body protests the movement and Jon shakes it away and steps out of his office. Tim is playing games on his phone leaning back in his chair with the sound of something bright trickling from his phone. Sasha is working on her computer humming softly to music from her headphones. Martin’s desk is empty, a few open cases and the little framed photos he keeps there.

Tim and Sasha glance up at him when he enters and Jon carefully asks, “Have either of you seen Martin recently?”

“Not since you sent him out to investigate Vittery,” Sasha says casually and then she pauses for a long moment and asks, “You don’t think…?”

“I don’t know, he’s sent a few texts saying he’s sick,” Jon says quietly, he runs a hand through his hair and glances over to Tim who is frowning, his phone set face down on the desk. Jon continues, “But that doesn’t mean anything.”

“You think Prentiss is involved?” Tim asks with a frown that hoods his eyes and sharpens the angles of his face, for one moment he seems a stranger.

“I don’t know, I can just tell something is wrong. Tim do you have Martin’s address?” Jon asks fidgeting slightly as the Eye presses the knowledge into his head, that and the previous tenants who were two old ladies who had both died rather peacefully in their sleep, they had a dog named Spot.

Jon rubs at his eyes as Tim rises to his feet tugging on his coat he replies, “Yeah I can show you?”

“No, I think it would be better if you both stay here,” Jon says quietly and Sasha, who had also risen to her feet pauses pinning Jon with a narrow glare.

“There could be anything out there and you’re going to go alone?” Sasha demands, she plants her hands on her hip and Jon Knows she’s worried about Martin, even about Jon, which is a surprise.

He nods, “I’ll be fine. I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”

“Jon you’re not invincible, it won’t solve anything if you get hurt before you can reach Martin,” Tim says, all his joviality stripped away suddenly leaving something tender and raw, Jon itches to poke at it, can taste a statement hiding there.

Is he invincible? Jon has always healed quickly, scars and cuts scab over and are gone the next day. He hasn’t really had the chance to test it yet and he doesn’t want to.

“I’ll be fine, I need you both to trust me, please,” Jon says glancing first from Sasha to Tim. Finally, Sasha’s shoulders slump inwards and she nods, Tim glares at Jon before he also nods.

Jon exhales softly and nods squaring his shoulders he says, “If I’m not back in the office tomorrow morning please inform Elias, Gerry’s page is in my desk. I should hopefully be back before then.”

The air is chilly and Jon tucks his coat tighter around his body as he steps out of the Institute, he can feel Elias’ gaze, pressed into the back of his shoulders, he ignores it. Martin’s apartment isn’t too far from the Institute and the tube is empty in that space right before rush hour. Jon hums to himself, his fingers are jittery and the tunnel seems to press in on him echoing a statement he took a few months ago.

Then he is at Martin’s apartment, the whole place is quiet, humming with the sort of presence that humans instinctively shy away from, the smart ones anyway. Inhaling, Jon squares his shoulders and enters the building, he Knows what he has to do, but Knowing and doing are two very different things.

The elevator music is some jazzy tune and it does nothing for the way Jon is practically vibrating with a mix of nerves and expectation. The hallway is empty when he steps out but when he turns down one of the long stretching corridors, he hears it.

_Knock. Knock._

Over and over again he hears it. He steps forward and at one door he can see the worms, pale white, like maggots, almost glistening in the shaky yellow hallway light, and at the door what once was Jane Prentiss. She has dark hair a tangled mess, pockmarks litter her skin, dark, so dark, gaping. She’s in a torn and tattered red dress that makes Jon think of blood.

For a moment, there is silence and then she turns towards him.

Her voice is all echoes, a cacophony like too many people trying to speak at once, “Archivist.”

“Leave, he is under my protection,” Jon says quietly, the feeling of being watched fills the hallway.

Prentiss tilts her head and worms drop out of her skin swarming towards Jon, she raises her hand to knock again. Jon frowns and he _opens his eyes_ , Prentiss pauses as Jon says, “Leave. I _Know_ you, Jane Prentiss. Leave.”

She pauses staring back at him with what were once eyes, the worms fill the hallways crawling towards Jon. Her hands drops and wordlessly she turns and shuffles down the hallway, the worms follow or slip into the cracks in the walls.

Jon exhales and waits a moment longer before he walks forward, the hallway is carpeted and the air smells vaguely of curry. Jon grounds himself in these sensations, he pauses outside Martin’s door and tips his head back, wills the eye in the centre of his forehead to close.

“Martin, it’s Jon. Jane Prentiss is gone,” Jon calls out loudly hesitating in front of his door, praying that he is fine, how many days has it been? Does he have access to food? Water? Jon breathes out shakily, tries to press away the lingering fear, he can feel Prentiss’ statement humming beneath his tongue and at the back of his throat.

“Jon? Is that really you?” Martin’s voice comes thick through the door choked with fear, then, “If it is you say something only Jon would say.”

“Martin do we really have time for this,” Jon says exasperated and he raises a brow as the sound of unlatching locks reaches his ears and the door swings inwards revealing Martin. He is pale, skin clammy with sweat, hair a tousled mess, and his eyes are wild.

“Martin,” Jon says softly, his heart is hammering in his chest and he’s not really sure why perhaps relief that Martin is okay.

“Jon,” Martin says his name fond and warm accompanied by a relieved smile. Jon can’t help but smile back.

“Are you okay? None of the worms got you?” Jon asks as Martin steps back into his apartment, it is clean, the kind of clean of someone who is bored and has cleaned every inch of said apartment.

Martin nods glancing over his shoulder before he says, “I’m fine. None of them got me. I dropped my phone though.”

“Oh, that explains a few things,” Jon says quietly, his gaze still sweeping over Martin’s apartment. It’s very… Martin, warm brown walls, a large brown couch, balls of yarn, books, posters, little fragments of poetry stuck everywhere.

“I uh what?” Martin questions glancing self-consciously at his apartment.

“I received a text a few days ago that you were sick, stomach bug or some such,” Jon replies with a shrug glancing at his own hands before he adds, “Of course, in hindsight that was Prentiss.”

“Yes, I-uh do you think she’ll come back?” Martin asks picking at a hole in his sweater, faint sunlight slants through the windows onto his hair and it looks like spun sugar. Jon blinks, he probably needs to get some sleep.

“I don’t think so. But if you’re concerned you can stay at the Archives until things blow over?” Jon offers without really thinking, but he doesn’t mind it. Part of him, one that sounds suspiciously like Gerry mutters about tea all the time, the rest of him just wants to protect his assistants.

“Are-are you sure?” Martin questions staring at Jon with wide hopeful eyes.

“Of course,” Jon says and he means it.

“I-okay, let me pack a few things,” Martin says and then as an afterthought, “Would you like some tea?”

“Please,” Jon says with a warm smile, Martin smiles back at him a brilliant blush flushing his cheeks before he turns and bustles into the kitchen. Jon watches him for a long moment before he squishes onto the comfy couch and reads scraps of Martin’s poetry.

Sasha enters his office with her breath short in her lungs, her hair a frizzy halo around her head, and the mark of the Spiral faint surrounding her. She settles into the chair opposite his desk with a long exhale and says, “I have a statement for you.”

“Okay,” Jon says softly and pulls out a tape, it’s already spooling, the soft fuzzy crackle filling the air, “Statement of Sasha James regarding…”

“My encounter with the entity known as Michael,” Sasha says and her expression twists remnants of fear and confusion playing across her face.

Oh. Jon knows this name, he even met Michael once though the man wasn’t aware of it at the time, he never seemed aware of much to be fair. But Jon knows what his mother did to Michael, how she fed him to the Spiral like a sacrificial lamb. Here’s his resurrection, is it what was prophesied?

“Statement taken directly from subject,” Jon continues and listens as Sasha gives her statement. Does Michael want to help them? Jon can’t see a clear reason why, the Distortion doesn’t know who Jon is, but that isn’t an explanation.

Sasha finishes and they sit in silence for a long moment, the hum of the Archives around them before Sasha says, “Everything with Prentiss isn’t over is it?”

“No, I suspect that we will unfortunately be seeing more of her and her worms in the future,” Jon replies with a frown rubbing his hand over his forehead. It is not a suspicion he Knows that Prentiss is after something, though what he cannot tell.

Elias will probably twist this to suit his own purposes, whatever those may be. Jon suspects that if none of the rituals will work on their own, Jonah Magnus will search for another way to achieve the Watcher’s Crown, though what it may be he could not say.

“What do you know about Michael?” Sasha questions, the same drive they share to know, know what, why, who. Anything to satisfy the curiosity regardless of the cost.

Jon frowns carefully debating what to reveal before he says, “He was once one of Gertrude’s assistants.”

“What?” Sasha questions carefully and when Jon glances up, he can see the suspicion in her gaze. It digs beneath his skin like the Corruption burning bitter like bile at the back of his throat, it’s not as if he’s done anything to gain their trust though.

“And now?” Sasha questions.

“Now, he is of the Spiral, the Distortion,” Jon replies simply and then adds, “I’m not like Gertrude.”

It’s a bit of a lie. Sometimes Jon wonders if they aren’t but mirrors of each other, but no Jon is different, has to believe he is different.

“I know,” Sasha says quietly and rises to her feet wrapping her arms around herself for a moment before she shakes her head.

“Why don’t you take the day off Sasha?” Jon says with a fond smile, he’s grown fond of his assistants regardless of how hard he tries to distance himself from them.

“Thanks,” Sasha says and with a final nod slips out of his office. Jon’s fingers draw nonsensical patterns onto a statement as he considers Sasha’s words.

There is a knock on the door and a moment later Martin slips inside with a mug of tea in his hands, he is wearing a burgundy jumper that reminds Jon for some reason of Christmas. Martin sets the tea down carefully on his desk and asks, “Is everything okay with Sasha?”

“She had a bit of a run-in with an avatar,” Jon replies reaching out to curl his fingers around the mug, Martin’s face goes pale and Jon quickly adds, “Not Prentiss. The being known as Michael, they’re, well I suppose you’ll know him when you meet him.”

“She’s okay?” Martin questions as Jon takes a sip of the tea, it warms him from the inside out.

“Yes, just a bit shaken up I think,” Jon replies with a reassuring sort of smile.

Martin nods and his face lights up as he adds, “The shipment of Co2 fire hydrants came in today. Rosie was a bit confused but I think by now she just accepts that its best to leave the Archives to their own devices.”

“Thank you, Martin, that is generally the wisest course of action,” Jon replies and Martin practically beams. Tilting his head and studying Martin, he questions, “How are you? Is sleeping in the Archives alright?”

Martin hums for a second before he shrugs and replies, “As good as it can be, I suppose. I don’t know… the feeling of being watched is almost strangely comforting, like I know if anything happens someone will be there. Still, doesn’t lead to a very restful sleep.”

“No, I don’t suppose it does,” Jon says agreeably glancing once more at Martin and noticing the bags under his eyes.

“Any idea when this all might be over? Can’t you just know it?” Martin questions with a touch of a frown crossing his arms over his chest. Jon can sympathize, his apartment is for the most part impersonal, but it’s still his.

“Sometime in the summer,” Jon replies after a moment the words feel right in his mouth, tasting faintly of static.

“Well,” Martin says with a sigh and then with a pasted-on smile continues, “Better than nothing I suppose. I’ll go work on the Smith case, enjoy your tea Jon.”

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon says and watches as he steps out of Jon’s office leaving him alone. Well except for Gerry who manifests on his old ratty couch that has probably been there since before Gertrude.

Gerry waggles his brows in insinuation and Jon flips him the bird and asks, “Did you ever meet Michael?”

He hums tipping his head back on the couch, his nail polish is black and looks freshly done, before when Jon first summoned Gerry he was always in an old hospital gown with his hair shaved close to his skull. Now, he looks more like how Jon last remembers him.

“Once or twice when I stopped by the Institute but I worked with Gertrude after… well let’s just say it was pretty quiet in the Archives,” Gerry replies with a shrug, Jon nods rubbing his hands together for a moment.

He rises to his feet and settles on the couch beside Gerry, he wants to lean his head against his shoulder, feel his fingers drag through Jon’s hair. But he can’t now. Instead, Jon tilts his head back for a long moment before beginning another statement.

“Boss, I have someone with a state-,” Tim pauses in his doorway tilts his head and asks, “Is that what I think it is?”

Jon glances up from where he is glancing over the supplementary information for the recent statement he read, tiny music blares from his phone, something about being a young boy and going to see a marching band. Jon glances slowly from his phone to Tim before he nods once.

“I didn’t take you for an emo boss,” Tim says with a teasing grin studying Jon as if he’s suddenly going to don dark makeup.

He shrugs and replies, “It’s good music, very accurate in some ways.”

“Uh-huh. Anyways I have someone here with a statement for you shall I send her in? Also, Elias wants to see you in his office when you have a moment,” Tim questions crossing his arms over his chest with an easy grin.

“Of course. Yes, send her in please Tim,” Jon replies setting aside his research, a part of him perks up like a dog scenting a bone at the prospect of a live statement.

Tim nods and heads out the door shutting it with a click behind him. A few moments later, the door opens and a woman walks inside, she’s got short hair in a bob with dyed tips and a t-shirt with a logo that’s maybe vaguely familiar.

She settles across from him glancing around the office with an expression of disdain for a moment before she turns her attention on Jon and asks, “I know you guys take stories here or whatever. I guess I’m just looking to get his off my chest. You going to believe me?”

“We can look into your statement, I can’t promise that I’ll believe you, there have been more than a few less then veritable statements,” Jon replies carefully earning a flat look before she shakes her head.

“Yeah alright,” She says with a shrug.

“Statement of…?”

“Melanie King,” She replies and Jon nods can hear the fuzzy sound of the tape recorder in the background.

“Statement taken directly from subject…”

Jon listens carefully to Melanie’s statement, there are more than a few holes in the story itself. Though when she mentions Georgie it helps connect a few dots. No other witnesses, the only footage of the whole thing destroyed. But the name Sarah Baldwin lingers like an itch at the back of his mind. He’s heard that name before, in another statement.

Melanie finishes crossing her arms over her chest and glaring across the desk stacked with paperwork at him with a raised brow and demands, “So, do you believe me?”

“While it’s hard to verify your experiences, I do,” Jon says quietly, simply.

Melanie glances up sharply and studies his expression as if searching for any hint of a lie. She must not find any because she nods and says, “Thanks.”

Jon smiles pleasantly and says, “I would be careful Ms. King, don’t go looking for Sarah Baldwin again.”

Melanie stares at him strangely for a long moment before she nods and rises to her feet, the door clicks shut behind her and Jon knows he will be seeing her in his dreams tonight. Sighing Jon scrubs a hand over his face wishing he could just hide in the Archives forever. But no, a meeting with Elias.

Rising to his feet, Jon steps out of his office, Martin is at his desk humming along softly to something playing from his headphones, Tim is gone having likely guided Melanie to the front, and Sasha is working on her laptop. She glances up at Jon with a raised brow and he explains, “Meeting with Elias. No doubt about our budget or something equally mundane.”

“Sometimes I’m glad I didn’t get the promotion,” Sasha jokes with a grin before she adds, “Did you see the strange table some delivery men dropped off in artefact storage?”

“No,” Jon says tilting his head, he can feel a thread of curiosity tugging at his head, the Eye whispering to him, he tilts his head and adds, “I’ll check it out on the way up.”

“Be careful, I worked in artifact storage for a month, I still have nightmares,” Sasha says, mostly teasing but also just a touched concern.

“I will,” Jon says with a smile and then adds as an afterthought, “When one of you have a moment can you look through our sorted filed for the name Sarah Baldwin? It should be one of the earlier statements.”

She nods and Jon flashes her a grateful smile before slipping out of the Archives. Immediately, the feeling of Elias watching him settles like a stone on his shoulder, never let it be said the man isn’t blunt, Jon wonders if that’s what he’s being called up about. It must annoy the man to no end that he can’t see inside the Archives unless Jon wants him to.

He pauses outside artefact storage and nods to Lisa who waves him inside; it’s nice having the clearance. Jon’s eyes land on the table almost instantly and a shiver runs through his body at the interlacing, maze-like pattern, web-like, which leads towards the centre. Resting on top of the table is a lighter with a web design a clear offering.

Exhaling, Jon recalls a similar table, the same table, appearing in the statement of Amy Patel about Graham Folger who had been replaced by an aspect of the Stranger, the not-them. It does not bode well that it sits in the Institute, as where the table is Jon has no doubt it follows.

He reaches out and picks the lighter up, runs his fingers over the engraved design. How strange of the web to supply a weapon of fire. He flicks the lid and it catches the flame bright in the dimness of artefact storage. He should set it down, he Knows what the Web can do, will do to see its own goals. It is not wise to spurn a gift from the Web however.

Jon glances around the room and in the corner of a room where he can see a web Jon nods once and tugs the lighter into his pocket.

He turns and exits artefact storage nodding once to Lisa before he leaves the basement. The lighter is heavy for a moment in his pocket.

Elias’ office is big, spacious, high vaulted ceilings, ornate furniture, where most of their budget went apparently. Elias sits at his desk in the centre of the room, filling out paperwork, not acknowledging Jon’s existence, a petty power play.

It seethes inside his stomach, cold and hard, lodged like a stone, this is the man who killed his mother. Jon’s hands itch to grab a knife, to hold it to his throat and see if he bleeds, see the fear in his eyes when he Knows who the Eye has chosen. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

“Jon come in,” Elias finally says after a few minutes and Jon walks quietly through the large office his shoes practically echoing. He settles in the chair across from Elias’ desk, it is stiff and uncomfortable.

Elias finally glances up at Jon, studies him with narrow eyes before stating, “The new fire suppression system has been installed as you requested.”

“Thank you,” Jon says simply, every word feeling stuck beneath his teeth.

Elias hums for a moment filling out the paperwork in front of him before he adds casually, “When do you expect it to happen?”

“Sometime in the summer,” Jon replies unwilling to supply the man with even so much as a month.

“It’s surprising that the Corruption is attempting this for their ritual,” Elias says and glances at Jon, studies him like a specimen on a table, searching for confusion, any sign that Jon does not understand. But he does.

“Yes. I wanted to ask about the table in artefact storage. Is there any way it can be moved to somewhere more secure?” Jon questions crossing his hands in his lap and staring back into Elias’, well Jonah’s eyes.

“Indeed? I’ll look into it but at this point there is little we can do,” Elias replies placidly, it’s bullshit and they both know it.

“I see,” Jon replies, he makes a mental note to speak to Lisa about moving the table to one of the more isolated holding areas and to speak to his assistants, also to get a polaroid camera in case of emergencies (Jon has exactly two photos of his mother, each of them are a polaroid, she used to have one of him).

“But that’s not what I called you here for,” Elias says with another customer service sort of smile. Jon just raises a brow and waits until Elias shifts, his smile tightening ever so slightly as he continues, “I’ve noticed that the Archives have been very closeted recently?”

“Oh?” Jon plays dumb and watches Elias’ expression twist ever so slightly more.

“Yes, it’s a bit of a problem. If you could see about clearing it up? After all, we want to be up to conduct and employees staying at the Institute is unfortunately not part of that conduct,” Elias responds blandly but there is a glint of something triumphant to his eyes.

“I’ll look into it,” Jon says simply and stares into Elias’ eyes, he still plays the part of the uncertain Archivist, new to his position, new to everything just as Elias plays the part of an incompetent boss.

“Thank you, Jon,” Elias finally says a dismissal. Jon nods and rises silently to his feet the feeling of being watched stuck between his shoulder blades.

Jon pauses in the doorway and adds, “Have a nice day, it’s going to rain on Thursday.”

The door shuts with a satisfying click behind him.

“Fuck,” Jon gasps out as Martin finishes wrenching the worm out of his leg, blood drips onto the floor from the hole in his leg and Jon decides it’s appropriate to swear again, “Fuck.”

Everything that can and should have gone wrong did. Jon tilts his head back for a moment breathing through the waves of pain as Martin with a tenuous frown wraps Jon’s leg with a makeshift bandage. He had known this was inevitable and yet Jon can’t stop yelling at himself, he just had to accidentally punch a hole through a wall and release a truly terrifying number of worms onto the Institute at large.

“Can you see anything Sasha?” Jon questions biting through the pain as Martin finishes tying the bandage. He can hear them, rustling, swarming, outside the door, they have one fire hydrant and are separated from the Archives.

“There’s a tape recorder out there and oh God, Tim is still out at lunch,” Sasha pales her face is pale and her hands are white-knuckled around the fire hydrant, she looks again and says, “Oh God I see him, Tim!”

“He won’t be able to hear you,” Jon says and begins to push himself up, Martin makes a distressed sound as Jon continues, “She’s out, there isn’t she?”

“Tim, turn around!” Sasha cries even as she nods, there are tears glimmering in her eyes.

“Sasha, Martin, when I go out there, I want you to grab Tim, find Elias and the Co2 suppression fire system. Do not get separated, and do not go into Artifact storage alone,” Jon says and rises fully to his feet, the hole in his leg isn’t quite so deep but still painful to stand on.

“Jon you can’t be serious-,” Sasha says staring at him in disbelief.

“You’ll die Jon!” Martin adds his eyes won’t leave the blood staining the floor.

“I’ll be okay,” Jon says it like he believes it he adds, “Please.”

“Can you even stand?” Sasha asks as Jon limps towards the door, he can see Tim now, whistling and walking down the hallway oblivious to the worms curling and wreathing on the floor. God, Jon should have hired more observant assistants. A bit too late for that now.

“I’ll be fine, go now,” Jon says as he forces his third eye open, static hums on his tongue, the power of the Watcher courses through him. Martin makes a sound deep in his throat and connects eyes with Jon before he tugs Sasha out into the hallway.

Jon follows and turns to face Jane Prentiss; she is if possible covered in more holes and lurches forward. He can hear the sound of his assistants’ footsteps and prays they will move quickly. Jon smiles, it is not a pleasant smile and says, “Statement of Jane Prentiss, or the entity formerly known as, statement taken directly from subject.”

Prentiss tips back her head and makes a choked screaming sound but she is not powerful enough to resist Jon’s compulsion and the sound chokes off. She glares at him and in a raspy voice begins to speak.

Jon stands still, his eyes focused on Prentiss, consuming her statement. He does not move, can only watch as the worms wriggle towards him, they wait surrounding him. Prentiss’ statement will end soon and when it does, she will be free and Jon will be dead.

Her statement begins to wind down and Jon gasps breaking his own compulsion and questions, “Why are you attempting a ritual here.”

Prentiss laughs, the sound is horrible, choking, she says, “The Eye has many enemies Archivist you know this.”

Then the worms surge forward and all Jon knows is pain as they burrow beneath his skin. For a moment, one that stretches on and on, an eternity of pain, all Jon knows it he burrowing sensation beneath his skin, he can hear them singing.

Then screaming.

Not his. The screaming of a thousand, millions of dying organisms.

Then nothing.

Jon lays on the cold floor gasping for breath, pain comes in waves, great tsunami sort of waves that white-out every nerve ending, small tidal waves where he can feel the blood draining out of his body in spots, can hear his own ragged voice. Jon floats for a long time in that space.

Then a voice, “Jon, oh God Jon.”

Fingers at the pulse of his neck, warm and a relieved sigh. Jon blinks and forces his eyes open. Martin is leaning over him; tears shine in his eyes and he’s almost sobbing as he sits back scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Hi,” Jon croaks, his voice shot with pain.

“Fuck, Jon don’t speak, the ambulance should be here soon, the worms are dead, Sasha got to the fire suppression system,” Martin replies his expression twists as he glances at Jon and reaches out his hand over Jon’s cheek, “Can I?”

He nods, the motion accompanied by a fresh wave of pain and asks, “What happened?”

“We ran into Elias, Sasha pulled the fire alarm so we were the only ones in the building,” Martin begins and winces as Jon twitches when he pulls a dead worm from his skin, Martin exhales and continues, “We agreed to split up, I went with Elias and Tim and Sasha went together. I-I got separated from Elias and I found myself in the tunnels underneath the Institute. Did you know there were tunnels?”

“Yes,” Jon says softly, his mother talked about them often, one of the few places where the Eye cannot see. Connected to Millbank prison and Jonah Magnus’ original body.

“Oh I-I see, anyways I got lost down there and I… I found her body,” Martin says and his hands pause, one resting on Jon’s cheek and the other on his chest.

Jon’s heart plummets in his chest, he doesn’t want to think about her corpse alone in the tunnels for so long. Well… not alone. He can’t help the way his breath hitches and Martin makes a soft sound and says, “The ambulance should be here soon Jon.”

There is silence between them for a long moment as Martin pulls out another worm with a pinched expression before he says, “You have a lot of secrets don’t you Jon?”

He stops breathing, stares up at Martin with wide terrified eyes. Because Jon? He is made of secrets and knowledge, wrapped up into the core of his very being and twisted until like the Web he cannot help but weave yet more secrets.

“Shh, it’s okay Jon,” Martin reassures him, his hand is gentle on Jon’s cheek, it’s been so long since he’s been touched like that, Martin smiles and continues, “We all have our secrets. Just maybe try and be a bit more open next time.”

“I trust you,” Jon says quietly and Martin nods once in understanding.

The paramedics arrive and after that everything is a bit blurry. But Jon focuses on his assistants, they’re fine, they’re all fine, they’re alive.

Her body is cold and still in the morgue, Gerry stands silently beside him staring at her with a soft expression. She is so still, grey, all the life and colour sapped from her skin, was he expecting anything else? Perhaps it is hard to contrast how he remembers her, calculating gaze, the hint of a smile over the top of her mug, her voice lecturing him on one thing or another.

Jon reaches out trails his fingers lightly over her skin, tears are collecting on his cheeks, she would probably have told him to stop crying, something about her already being old. Jon still cries as he leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead.

He steps back for a moment, let’s Gerry say his last goodbye if Gertrude was a caring person Jon thinks she might have adopted Gerry.

“Ready?” Gerry asks quietly and Jon nods and pulls out his lighter, the Web pattern glints in the harsh florescent lighting above her.

With a long exhale Jon leans forward and presses the flame to the cloth covering her body. It catches quickly, the fire alarms are temporarily disabled, just long enough for this. Jon and Gerry stand side by side, his hand is threaded through Gerry’s translucent fingers.

They watch her body burn for a long time and the tears on Jon’s cheeks are cold in the face of the fire. He promises, to do better, to be better, that Jonah Magnus will not achieve the Watcher’s Crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter I had fun setting up some of the future events for the next chapters. Comments are always super appreciated, till next time!


	3. Part the Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I'm back with another chapter. A huge thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter! This one focuses on season 2 though some season 3 things will be slipping in. Read on and enjoy!

Jon returns to the Archives the next day, he is sore all over, just a mess of pockmarked skin which aches and aches, the phantom sensation of worms burrowing beneath the skin. But Jon’s apartment is empty even with Gerry and he knows he’ll heal with a few statements for nutrition.

It’s almost sad that the Archives have become everything.

The Archives are empty without his assistants and Jon recalls vaguely that Elias has given them all a week off. He stands in the doorway for a long moment observing the empty desks, the place is a mess but the cleaners have gotten rid of most of the blood so it’s more a mess of the Archives itself. Jon sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, he winces at the twinges of pain the movement brings and moves further into the Archives.

His office is a mess of papers scattered across the floor, the hole in the wall has been hastily patched up and Jon trails his fingers over the rough texture with a sigh. He can still see Jane Prentiss, hear her rasping voice.

Rolling his shoulders, Jon exhales and begins to pick up the sheets of paper scattered around. Idly, he glances at each one, some are statements, those he sets in the centre of the desk, the others are supplemental, budget forms, and other such bureaucracy, those he stuffs on a shelf with little care.

As he organizes his office slowly, Jon cannot help but think about the day before. He has everyone’s statements and they linger, heavy with a mix of suspicion. That a Hive was able to encroach on the Eye’s territory so boldly doesn’t speak well of Magnus’ aspirations, much less how he abandoned Martin to find the tunnels.

Jon settles the last of the sheets on his desk and pauses surveying the room, without the worms it is a better sight and the part of him that is connected to the Archives breathes a small sigh of relief.

He glances longingly at the statements on his desk for a long moment before Gerry’s voice drifts from the doorway, “You’re going to investigate the tunnels?”

“Whatever Gertrude found down there, it was enough to convince her to burn down the Archives,” Jon replies glancing over his shoulder at Gerry who is leaning casually against the doorway the faint translucence surrounding him hardly noticeable in the Archives.

“And Leitner’s down there,” Gerry growls with an expression of distaste and Jon doesn’t doubt if the man was even fractionally corporeal Leitner would not live to regret meeting Gerry a second time. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for both of them, Gerry can’t kill Leitner; though Jon wouldn’t mourn the loss.

“There’s that too, Gertrude might have told him something, you know how secretive she was,” Jon shrugs riffling through one of his drawers before he pulls out a heavy flashlight, a piece of paper with faint lines Gertrude let him copy, and a piece of chalk.

“For good reason I suppose,” Gerry says with a roll of his eyes, he uncrosses his arms and for just a moment their eyes meet. Jon longs to fold himself up in Gerry’s arms, inhale the faint scent of smoke and incense, trace the eyes tattooed onto his skin. But he can’t.

“What’s the plan then? Confront him and then kick him out to face the tender mercy of the other entities?” Gerry questions as Jon walks through the doorway, following behind him and brushing a hand through his badly died hair.

“Something like that,” Jon replies opening the door to where the trapdoor lies in wait, the key is warm in his pocket and he stares at the broken wood for a long moment. Perhaps he should have waited and read a statement but it is too late for that now.

The trapdoor creaks open and an unwelcoming dark greets him, he shares a dubious look with Gerry. Even though Gertrude had explored the tunnels countless times that isn’t the slightest bit reassuring. Other Avatars were scared of Gertrude; Jon knows he’ll never live up to her legacy.

The tunnels themselves are cold stone, not particularly encroaching but the Buried holds claim on the underground and Jon feels slightly claustrophobic nonetheless. He also notices rather immediately how his connection to the Eye dims, he can feel it like a rope stretched too thin, still there but faint, it must irritate Elias that he can’t see underneath the Institute.

“Robert Smirke and his creepy ass architecture makes yet another appearance,” Gerry says with a roll of his eyes kicking his foot ineffectually against the wall.

Jon nods glancing down the corridor, there is a vague sense of hostility to the place, and replies, “Yes, connected to the old Millbank prison I think?”

Gerry raises a brow and Jon’s brow furrows for a moment trying to pick out what he recalls from Tim, who liked to often info dump about Smirke. Jon suspected it was somehow tied to whatever statement sat buried in his head.

“The Panopticon, one jail tower in the centre of a circular room, one guard and the fear of being watched at any moment,” Jon pauses and tilts his head, the Eye though faint presses encouragingly as he continues, “I-There were fourteen tunnels? No, somehow the fourteen entities were represented in the prison of course with the Eye dominant.”

“If all the rituals were attempted about the same time some odd 200 years ago,” Gerry says softly as Jon begins to walk through the tunnels glancing idly at the faint map. He should probably make his own at some point, give copies to his assistants.

“Then Jonah likely used the Panopticon to attempt his ritual,” Jon replies carefully and the words feel right, he Knows they are right.

“Hence his continued existence,” Gerry says bitter and curious in the same vein as Jon.

“But it failed,” Jon adds and then continues, “At least in a fashion. It didn’t fail as completely as the other rituals which means either it’s possible the Eye gave Magnus its favour, its possible to use the ritual to gain power, or something about the ritual was different from the others.”

They’re both silent for a few moments, just the sound of Jon’s footsteps and his breathing, harsh in the seemingly non-ending tunnels.

Jon pauses at a crossroad and leans against the wall he pulls out his pack of cigarettes as Gerry leans against the wall beside him and lights up his own cigarette. Jon inhales once, feels the faint burn in his throat, the bitter taste on his tongue.

Then Jon says, “Jurgen Leitner I know you can hear me, Gertrude’s already told me about you. I would reveal yourself if I were you, make this far less of a hassle.”

“Think that’ll work?” Gerry asks a cloud of silvery smoke drifting from his lips with each word.

Jon shrugs taking a puff of his own cigarette he replies, “If it doesn’t, it doesn’t.”

He waits until the cigarette has burned down to the filter before he stubs it beneath his toes. Resisting the urge to pick at the wounds littering his body Jon glances at Gerry and nods once pushing off the wall.

That’s when the sound of footsteps makes themselves known, light barely there, out of the wall across from them Leitner appears. He is an older man with a head of thick white hair, a scraggly beard and scared, so very scared, eyes, like that of prey being hunted.

“The new Archivist I presume?” Leitner asks studying Jon, still wrapped up in bandages, thin, frail-looking his mother described him as once.

“Jonathan Sims,” He introduces himself with a slow tilt of his head.

Leitner’s eyes dart to Gerry and he makes a vague terrified sound Gerry laughs, it is not a nice laugh and he adds, “Fortunately for you, I’m rather dead.”

“I-I see,” Leitner says quietly his eyes scanning over both of them before landing on Jon, scrutinizing, as he asks, “What do you want Archivist? I suppose I should also ask why Gertrude told you about me?”

“She knew I would inherit the position,” Jon replies with a shrug ignoring the way Gerry grins and Jon continues, “As to what I want, the same as Gertrude I suppose, stop the world from ending. Stop Jonah Magnus from enacting the Watcher’s Crown. But as to why I’m here, I wanted to Know if Gertrude told you anything?”

“I-she told me some things, she had suspicions that the rituals didn’t need to be stopped, that they would fail on their own though I don’t believe she figured out why. Gertrude was exploring the tunnels, as you know it is connected to the Panopticon, there she found Jonah Magnus’ original body. I don’t know if there is much else, I can tell you,” Leitner replies sounding only vaguely apologetic and mostly terrified.

Jon grimaces as Gerry interjects, “Well I suppose that was at least somewhat useful.”

He studies Leitner for a long moment and feels that familiar hunger stirring at the back of his mind, it’s an itch and he doesn’t hesitate, scratches at it as he asks, “Would you like to give a statement Mr. Leitner?”

A tape recorder clicks on somewhere in the background, Jon watches the way Leitner’s eyes dart from Jon to Gerry, they are fearful eyes, terrified eyes, the man says, “I-yes.”

“Statement of Jurgen Leitner…” Jon begins and consumes the statement; feels the way the Eye is satisfied. The statement itself sits sour and heavy in his stomach, he can see Gerry frowning next to him, his eyes dark; death had stripped away some of the anger but not all.

Finally, Leitner finishes, looking near out of breath and terrified. Jon scrubs a hand over his face, he can feel the holes Prentiss’ attack left attempting to close over as he says, “I almost feel pity for you. You’re just a foolish old man, who thought he was greater than he was.”

Leitner flinches back at his words and Gerry smiles vindictively, Jon continues, “Still I suppose you at least made it easier to identify them.”

“Certainly, made my job easier,” Gerry adds with a shake of his head, he has another cigarette and the air in the tunnels smells faintly of tobacco. Gerry drops the cigarette and stubs it beneath his foot as he pins Leitner and asks, “So, what are you going to do now? Keep living beneath the Institute?”

“Not much of a life,” Jon adds pleasantly, he studies Leitner with narrow eyes, watches the way the man’s face pales, Jon’s never been particularly brave, he’s always been a bit of a coward but the pure fear radiating from Leitner is almost unpleasant.

“There’s nowhere for me to go! The enemies I’ve made, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill me,” Leitner protests and then he takes a breath and continues, “I’ve made my peace here.”

“You could be doing more,” Jon says quietly, he stares into Leitner’s eyes, through Leitner as he continues, “You know more about the books than most out there. You could easily identify new ones, destroy ones that you find if you could bear it. You’re an old man perhaps you could spend the last years of your life atoning, or you could remain here in the tunnels waiting for death to claim you, slow and cruel, if Elias doesn’t get to you first.”

Leitner pales at Jon’s words and he can’t help but add, “If you did try, the Eye would be behind you, you are marked however unwillingly.”

“Marked?” Leitner questions and Jon can see Gerry tilting his head with a raised brow.

“Of course, that need to Know about each book, to protect that Knowledge. The Watcher appreciates things like that,” Jon replies with a shrug, his fingers itch for a cigarette or to scratch at his skin where the wounds are scabbing over.

“Perhaps… perhaps I have been complacent for too long,” Leitner says quietly but Jon can see, he Knows the man is far too much of a coward to do anything. He will take one step out of the tunnels and turn back.

“The Eye watches regardless,” Jon says and Leitner nods glancing from Gerry to Jon for a long moment before he turns and the tunnel shifts around them. Between one blink and the next (he doesn’t really need to blink but he does anyway), Leitner is gone.

“It would be funny wouldn’t it, if he took over my job?” Gerry questions that little curl of a smile all collected in the corners of his lips. Jon huffs out a laugh and pulls out another cigarette as they walk through the tunnels.

“He won’t go through with it. Too much of a coward that one,” Jon replies as the faint light of the trapdoor slants down into the tunnels. Gerry hums, a disgusted expression plastering itself across his face as they pause at the trapdoor.

Gerry leans close and blows smoke into Jon’s face, he coughs and glares at the man, who laughs, that low chuckle as Gerry adds, “Come on, go have another statement and pine for your assistants. Elias will probably want to speak to you.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jon says with a shake of his head and climbs out of the tunnels.

Jon is running a bit late through no fault of his own, it started with waking up late from the usual round of nightmares, statement after statement and all he can do is watch, bleary and so tired he had stumbled around his kitchen until the coffee machine gave out a pitiful groan and died. It just so happened to also be raining and the coffee shop near his apartment was bustling so Jon forwent coffee, a terrible decision really, and then because of the rain the tube was late.

So, Jon is late, wet, and only slightly irritated about the whole matter but he finds a moment to stop at artefact storage.

Lisa is sitting at the desk at the front, the one to check in all the visitors, she’s checking her makeup in a handheld mirror but glances up with a wide smile and says, “Good morning Jon, here for an artefact so early?”

“Good morning Lisa,” Jon replies stepping forward, ignoring the water dripping from his coat, he continues, “I just wanted to check that the table I mentioned earlier has been moved into a secure room and that there haven’t been any visitors?”

Lisa nods understandingly and with a hum says, “Let me just check the visitor log, but it’s definitely been moved to one of our more secured rooms. Your assistants are back this week, right? Nasty business the infestation.”

She flicks through a few sheets with a pleasant smile. Jon studies her for a long moment, something is _different_ but he can’t tell what, instead he replies, “Yes thankfully, the Archives are a mess without them. New perfume?”

“Yes, my mom insisted on it,” Lisa replies pleased and continues, “Looks like there’s been no visitors just the routine check, though for secured items we usually do so in pairs.”

“Thank you, Lisa,” Jon says with a smile and then slightly embarrassed adds, “Sorry about the water.”

“No worries dear, off you go have a nice day,” Lisa says and Jon nods and tosses a wave over his shoulder as he exits artefact storage.

Something settles in his chest as he enters the Archives, he can see his assistants at their desks, Tim is scrolling through his phone a few bandages wrapped around his arms, Sasha has a couple on her arms where she is typing on the computer, and Martin has one or two where he is writing in his notebook. It hits somewhere that he let his assistants be injured by Prentiss, it won’t happen again.

“Well if it isn’t the boss, not like you to be late Jon?” Tim says casually but he’s looking at Jon with concern in his eyes, his words draw the attention of the other assistants and it warms Jon’s heart to see similar concern.

“You’re practically soaking, you look like a drowned rat,” Sasha says a hint of laughter but mostly pity to her voice.

Jon shrugs and says sadly, “My coffee machine died.”

“Ah,” Tim says in understanding even as Martin rises to his feet.

“How about a cup of tea to warm everyone up?” Martin questions fiddling with the end of his jumper for a moment.

“Please and thank you, Martin,” Jon says with a warm smile and watches as a blush blossoms across Martin’s face before he turns and hurries into the kitchen. Sasha just rolls her eyes even as Tim chuckles and shakes his head.

“How are you two feeling?” Jon questions shaking off his coat and hanging it on the nearby coat rack.

“A lot better honestly, I was getting bored at home,” Sasha says with a smile turning to rifle through her desk.

Tim nods in agreement and there’s a twist to his lips when he says, “Nice to have the time off, the holes not quite so. You’ve already scarred over pretty nicely boss?”

“Perks of being bound to a fear entity,” Jon replies simply, he resists the urge to drag his fingers over the circular scars on his arms. A second later, Martin appears from the breakroom carefully juggling four mugs, he sets one on each desk before he walks forward and presses one into Jon’s hands.

He takes it with a nod of thanks and wraps his fingers around it absorbing the heat before he takes a long sip.

“Should we give you two a moment?” Sasha teases and Jon blinks opening his eyes to glare at her for a moment even as he takes in Martin’s fierce blush, Sasha pauses and adds, “There’s actually something we’d like to talk you about Jon.”

Jon freezes for a moment concerned before he sees their expressions and says, “Of course.”

They all share a look, silent arguments about who is going to speak first and a touch of surprise that he’s so willing to listen before finally Tim asks, “Do you trust us?”

“Yes,” Jon replies near-instantly, the word slips from his lips as if compelled and he knows it to be true.

“We’re just not sure we believe you, Jon,” Sasha says with a frown and then continues, “You’ve told us a lot, about the fear entities, you’ve been open about the supernatural being real but you also keep a lot of secrets. Did you know that we couldn’t leave?”

“No,” Jon says quietly and he hates that Gertrude never thought to mention it, perhaps she never knew, she always thought Eric Delano died; he did eventually. It’s not like Jon could have escaped having assistants though, Elias would have insisted on it.

“What about the tunnels? Martin says you knew about those,” Tim adds crossing his arms over his chest and Jon can’t help the way his eyes flicker to Martin who is studying his shoes, Jon’s hands wrap around the mug.

“I did know about them,” Jon pauses for a moment collecting his thoughts before he continues, “I trust you all I do, but some of the secrets I know I can’t tell you, not now, not yet, for my safety and yours.”

He can feel the way his words sit heavy on the air as Jon takes a slow sip of his tea, it's really quite wonderful. Tilting his head in thought Jon adds, “I can tell you that Elias Bouchard is not what he seems, he is very dangerous and that this job is dangerous but I will try to protect you all to the extent of my abilities. I can’t see the future but I’m not powerless.”

His assistants trade a few looks silently communicating and Jon feels as if he’s being judged, standing before a board of directors or some such nonsense and being judged unworthy. Finally, Sasha says softly, “You have the right to your privacy Jon, but next time if possible, let us know please.”

Jon thinks for a split second of telling them about Leitner, about the rituals before he says, “When the time is right I will. Now if you don’t mind, I have a few statements to get through and you all have some research to do.”

Tim groans even as Sasha rolls her eyes, Martin just nods flashing Jon a soft smile that he can’t help but return.

He pauses on the doorway and tilts his head a flash of Knowing as he says, “The police are here, Sasha if you could show them in?”

“I still hate when you do that Jon,” Sasha says but she sounds mostly fond as she rises to her feet and opens the door before the officer can knock. A woman with a hijab, tan skin, and in her uniform steps into the Archives and Jon has a moment to think _oh_ before they lock eyes.

“Jon?”

“Hello Basira,” Jon greets with a tiny smile and an awkward wave, one hand still wrapped around the mug in his hand.

“You know her?” Tim questions with a leer glancing between the two of them.

Jon rolls his eyes and with a shake of his head, he flashes Basira a pleading expression and replies, “I’m friends with her cousin.”

Basira nods and with a shake of her head says, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here of all places,” she straightens formality pressing her spine straight as steel as she continues, “I’ve been sent to investigate the death of Gertrude Robinson. I need to interview you all.”

“I see,” Jon says, he should have expected this, and then adds, “Why don’t I start?”

Basira nods and Jon can see his assistants eyeing him a strange mix of concern and suspicion. Jon just smiles somewhat reassuringly and enters his office Basira following behind him. Setting his mug on his desk Jon settles in his chair and watches as Basira shuts the door with a click her eyes sweeping over his office.

“I assume you haven’t told them about your little band?” Basira questions with a faint hint of a teasing smirk.

“Ah no, I prefer to keep something of an air of professionalism,” Jon replies with a tilt of his head and then with a touch of guilt he adds, “I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention it, I’ll tell them on my own time.”

Some things should stay secret.

Basira hums leaning back in the chair to study him, she asks, “Just to be clear you didn’t go all Jonny D’Ville on Gertrude?”

He is for one moment absolutely horrified at the idea he might have killed his mother (D’Ville killed his father, does that say something about him?), a strange mimicry of Gerry’s life, even as he replies, “No, I-I hardly knew her, met her once maybe.”

The lie sits heavy on his tongue, but it’s a necessary one and a convincing one at that. Jon’s never been much of a liar but he learned how to tell this one well.

Basira studies him for a moment longer her eyes keen and Jon can just detect a faint hint of the Eye around her as she says, “You don’t really have much of a motive, none of your assistants do either. Do you know who killed her?”

“I do,” Jon replies the words sit heavy with that familiar fury which he tamps down as he continues, “But you won’t be able to convict him, he’s got too much power for that.”

“Bouchard,” Basira guesses her eyes keen, they almost remind Jon of a hawk. He nods once and her expression twists as she says, “Suppose I better tell the higher-ups it’s a cold case, no clear suspects?”

“It would be safer,” Jon says in agreement.

Basira laughs and says, “I’m a sectioned officer Jon my life hasn’t been safe for a while.”

Jon nods, he remembers Gertrude talking about the sectioned officers and paramedics a few times, he tilts his head and asks, “Would you like to make a statement?”

Basira scrutinizes Jon for a long moment before she sighs and with a shake of her head says, “Sure why not. You have a non-disclosure agreement?”

“Nothing leaves the Archives that isn’t supposed to. Statement of Basira Hussain regarding…”

Her statement is interesting, the Desolation, and Jon is certain he’s read at least one of the names before in another statement. When she’s finished, they sit in silence for a long moment, Basira traces patterns on the upholstery of the chair before she glances up at him and says, “That was actually kind of cathartic. We have some of Gertrude’s tapes at the precinct, as a favour to Ash I could bring them by? They probably won’t be used now anyway.”

“I-thank you Basira I would appreciate that,” Jon responds softly his voice not quite thick with emotion but almost at having any piece of his mother he can get. Basira studies him for a moment before she nods and rises to her feet.

She pauses in the doorway and says, “I’ll be at the show this Friday, don’t think I’m not telling Ash.”

“Of course,” Jon says with a roll of his eyes, Basira grins and ducks out of his office to take the assistants’ testimony. Jon leans back in his chair for a long moment, perhaps Gertrude’s tapes might prevent a hint of what she was researching before Magnus murdered her.

He’ll have to wait and see as much as it pains him. For the moment though, Jon has statements to read, and ‘mysteriously’ quite a few have been placed on his desk probably by the cleaners under Elias’ command. Jon wonders how many secrets, tapes, and statements that man withholds. It’s a crime to withhold knowledge from and Archivist after all.

“This is a bad idea you know, like a phenomenally bad idea,” Gerry says casually staring intently at Jon where they sit side by side on the park bench. It’s a beautiful day, all things considered, there are birds chirping in the distance and a cool breeze brushes against his skin.

“Of course, it is,” Jon agrees placidly and then adds, “But she might have answers, about the Unknowing, about Gertrude.”

Gerry scoffs and tilts his head back a puff of smoke escaping his lips as he replies, “You Archivists are all the same, relentless. Do your assistants at least know you’re here?”

Jon blinks and then tries to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace and Gerry scoffs and flicks his cigarette onto the grass with a glare as he says, “And what are you going to do if you’re attacked, Jon? I can’t call the ambulance for you, dead remember? I’m also hoping you won’t join me on the other side, as much as I would appreciate the constant company.”

He frowns mulling over Gerry’s words for a moment before he says quietly, “We both know I don’t have anything planned, but hopefully, the public area will prevent anything too nasty.”

“That’s all you have? The ‘public area’?” Gerry retorts pressing up into Jon’s space and glaring at him, up close Jon can see the darkness of his eyes. He blinks and leans back, crosses his arms over his chest, Jon knows he’s sulking, he knows he’s impulsive, but he can’t find it within him to apologise. Gerry, who knows him all too well rolls his eyes and says, “Why would I expect anything else though Jon?”

He’s almost hurt and it must show on his face because Gerry’s expression softens for a fraction of a second before he scowls and orders, “Tell your assistants next time Jon, you say you trust them but actions speak louder than words and all that.”

Jon nods thoroughly lectured he glances around the park and replies, “I will, it’s not fair what I put them through.”

“To be fair, you didn’t really have a choice in the whole worm matter,” Gerry replies with a huff, he’s also glancing around the park and his eyes narrow, “There she is.”

Then he is gone and Jon is alone.

Jude Perry is a tall woman with short hair and broad shoulders, she’s in a tank top and has a deep frown on her face. She pauses in front of the bench studying Jon for a long moment before she sticks out her hand with a smile, almost saccharine in nature, and says, “Jude Perry.”

“Jonathan Sims, Archivist you’ll have to forgive me if I’m reluctant to shake your hand Ms. Perry,” Jonathan replies with a pleasant smile that he forces on his face as Perry’s smile twists hot and sudden to a frown as she glares at him and crosses her arm over her chest.

“That was pretty rude, what do you want?” Perry asks studying him with her eyes, her gaze is piercing, scorching, and the Desolation crackles on the very air around her, like a hot summer day.

“Just a few questions,” Jon says simply watching as he expression twists further he adds, “About the Unknowing.”

“You know who killed Gertrude?” Perry asks crossing her arms over her chest.

“Elias Bouchard,” Jon replies and the name is bitter on his tongue as is the way Perry’s face twists into one of pleasure, a mix of vindication and satisfaction.

“I would have preferred to take care of her myself, but I suppose at least she’s gone. Alright, Archivist, I suppose I owe you one, ask your questions, but no guarantee I’ll answer,” Perry replies and settles on the edge of the bench, the wood sears beneath her.

“You were involved with the forest that burned, down weren’t you?” Jon questions curiously tilting his head to study Perry.

“A favour to Nikola,” Perry shrugs and then adds, “Heard it was quite upsetting, lots of dense forest growth. Went up real nice.”

“I see, you knew Agnes correct?” Jon questions carefully and watches as Jude’s gaze sharpens, studying him intensely.

“She was the start of it for me Archivist,” Perry says, she pauses studying him for a moment longer before she says, “You want some advice Archivist? You strike me as the type who doesn’t serve their God.”

“Some advice?” Jon questions for a moment before he nods slowly and says, “Statement of Jude Perry regarding some advice…”

Perry’s statement sits warm in his stomach like hot chocolate or tea, he savours the taste of it as he processes her words, she doesn’t know much about Agnes which is unfortunate. Jon was rather hoping to learn more about the messiah of the Desolation.

Gertrude rarely spoke of her, the woman the web had tied her to, all in the hopes of stopping yet another ritual. Another child bound to an entity from birth.

Perry finishes with a satisfied smile, relieving the pain she has created as she says, “That was actually pretty nice Archivist.”

Jon opens his mouth and Perry frowns and says, “Don’t try to compel me again Archivist, I could tear your pretty heart out of your chest and burn it to ashes.”

“I just wanted to ask when this all happened?” Jon raises his hands gently; he’s learned over the years that trying to keep the compulsion out of his question is like trying separate molecules from each other.

“1991,” Perry replies with a roll of her eyes and then adds, “Is that all?”

“Do you know when the Unknowing will occur?” Jon questions, if the Desolation is working with the Stranger than perhaps. Still, it’s not as if Jon needs to stop the ritual it will fail all on its own, but the others don’t know that. Perhaps he should maintain appearances?

“That’ll cost you, Archivist,” Perry says, Jon raises a brow and she continues, “It was rude of you earlier, not shaking my hand. Shake it and I’ll tell you when they’re planning to hit it off.”

“Agreed,” Jon says and braces for the pain as he stretches his hand out.

Perry grins, vicious and burning as she says, “2017, the summer.”

Then her hand clasps over his and Jon muffles a scream behind his teeth as pain, so much pain, all-consuming, destroying pain, rushes through his hand, the skin warping and charring underneath the heat.

Jon isn’t sure how long the pain lasts, knows only that Perry is gone and Jon is alone on the bench.

Or at least he was, “Jon! Goddamit you idiot, call an ambulance. I can’t help you; you need to call 999,” Gerry’s voice is distant and Jon blinks forces his eyes to focus on Gerry kneeling in front of him, face twisted up in concern.

Jon moves slowly, but even that much is enough to send a bolt of pain lancing through his hand, already the flesh is trying to knit itself together. Gerry frowns scrubbing a hand over his face he looks close to tears as Jon pulls out his phone.

He tries to tap on the screen but his fingers are shaking too badly, a few strangers walk by, but they only stare with glassy disinterested eyes. Gerry makes a frustrated sound and Jon blinks trying to clear his mind through the pain, but his nerves are still firing.

“Fuck,” Gerry says and pries the phone from Jon’s hand.

For a moment they stare in silence as the phone is held in Jon’s hand before Gerry shakes his head and calls an ambulance.

It’s all a bit of a blur after that.

Jon steps into the Archives quietly the next day, his hand cradled close to his chest wrapped up with white bandages and still twinging if he even flexes his fingers. Hopefully, after a few statements, it will heal, though Jon suspects that direct wounds from avatars are probably resistant to healing, living marks of fear and all that.

Something stirs at that thought, twisting at the back of Jon’s mind but before he can pursue it, the thought is gone.

He arrives early, hoping to avoid a confrontation with his assistants but he is not so fortunate as all three of his assistants are sitting at their desks and in near synchronisation, they all look up at him. Jon swallows and feels a cold drip of fear like an iv pump through his veins.

Martin is the first to notice his bandaged hand but it is Sasha who asks, “Are you going to tell us what happened Jon? Or is it not safe for us to know?”

Jon exhales slowly chewing over his thoughts before he replies, “I met with another avatar, one who serves the Desolation, I had questions… there’s, well each entity can attempt a ritual to be brought through into our world. Gertrude spent most of her life halting these rituals, though the End and the Web, as far as I know, have never attempted one. The most recent one was the Dark a few years ago and next year the Stranger will attempt its own ritual.”

There is a thick silence in the Archives and Jon winces at the aborted twitching of his fingers, he glances at Tim sees the way his expression twists up hard and cold in stark contrast to his usual ease. Martin looks almost devastated, one hand clasped over his mouth, but its Sasha with her keen eyes who asks, “That’s not all though?”

“No, Gertrude believed, and she was right, the rituals always fail, with or without intervention, though I’m not yet certain as to the reason,” Jon replies shifting in the centre of the Archives and feeling the weight of his assistants’ eyes, the feeling of being Seen.

“I’m sensing a but here boss,” Tim says and he sounds cold, angry, the nickname sits acidic on his tongue and Jon can’t help the way he flinches. Its only what he deserves he supposes.

“I suppose I’ve been contemplating trying to stop it anyway if only to set a precedent, a warning I suppose,” Jon replies rubbing his left hand over his arm, he feels cold but for the burning heat of his right hand.

“And the burnt hand?” Martin asks gently hunched in on himself, he can sense Tim’s eyes on him and Sasha is studying him with pinched lips.

“A small price to pay for information,” Jon replies with a shrug, what is a little pain in the face of knowledge after all?”

“Jon, you need to be careful!” Martin protests and Tim’s cold expression has slipped away to something almost pitying.

He nods once pausing to carefully flex his fingers as he adds, “I’m sorry I should have told you all what I was doing in advance. I suppose I’m used to working alone.”

Jon doesn’t mention how that particular value Gertrude instilled at a young age. Tim scoffs and Sasha scowls as she says, “Anything else you’d like to get out in the open Jon?”

He pauses for a moment, can feel how tender everything is, if he says the wrong thing well, he wouldn’t blame them, instead Jon says, “I-uh have a band?”

For a moment there is silence, a stunned sort of silence before Martin makes a squeaking sort of sound and says, “Sorry did you say a band?”

“Yes,” Jon replies a touch more confident as Tim smiles, a real smile.

“I’m surprised boss, what kind of band? Jazz? Classical?” Tim questions and even Sasha is smiling now in amusement, perhaps at Jon’s obvious discomfort. Still, he said he trusts them and he does.

Jon can’t help the way he blushes and glances at his shoes, wishing just a bit for some of his stage confidence as he replies, “We’re a sort of cabaret, I guess? We uh, well we’re called the Mechanisms.”

Tim whips out his phone before Jon is even finished and Jon cringes and glances at his office desperately wishing he could hide away; he supposes this is his penance. Tim snorts and glances at Jon with wide eyes as he questions, “A group of immortal space pirates?”

“Really?” Sasha questions and leans against Tim to peer at his phone. Jon feels as if he has been possessed by an entity of embarrassment as Martin sidles over to peer at the phone, probably their webpage.

“It’s uh very creative Jon,” Martin says with a sympathetic smile, Jon just nods and resists the urge to twitch his fingers.

“Oh look, there’s a YouTube channel,” Tim says gleefully, there is a sort of unholy light to his eyes.

That is Jon’s cue to flee. Coughing he smiles pleasantly and says, “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

Before any of his assistants can respond Jon ducks into his office and shuts the door behind him with a click. It doesn’t stop the tinny sound of _Our Boy Jack_ from drifting through the door. Jon lets his head thunk on his desk with a groan before he straightens and pulls out a few statements.

“Are we going to talk about what happened yesterday?” Gerry asks he’s slumped over Jon’s ratty old couch, his fingers are playing with the old knit blanket thrown over the back, or at least they’re trying to, trying to lift a corner or tug one end forward.

Jon pauses, sets the statement down on the desk and says, “I don’t know.”

“No, I suppose you don’t,” Gerry replies glancing at Jon’s face for a long moment before he asks, “When was the last time you summoned me?”

“I suppose when I introduced you to the assistants,” Jon says quietly staring at Gerry with wide eyes, is it just Jon or does he somehow look more solid, more real.

“What do you think it means?” Gerry asks, he doesn’t sound concerned, just curious, he once said that death brings a strange kind of apathy.

“I don’t know, perhaps something to do with the book?” Jon says and a second later opens his desk drawer, the book sits there, the black leather of it’s cover smooth beneath his fingers. Jon pauses and tilts his head and continues, “Someone’s here to give a statement.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to investigate later,” Gerry says with a put-upon sigh and twirls his fingers, a cigarette pinched between the two, Jon blinks and he is gone.

A moment later, there is a knock on the door, Sasha opens the door and there are the remnants of a smile on her face as she says, “There’s someone here to give a statement though I’m sure you already knew that.”

“Send her in Sasha, thank you,” Jon replies and she rolls her eyes but steps back and ushers in a woman, she has curly hair and is wearing a pencil skirt and matching blouse. She steps inside his office carefully, her eyes darting around the room frantically before she slumps into his chair.

“Helen Richardson,” She says with a shaky smile and then continues, “I-You take statements, here right?”

“Yes, Jonathan Sims,” He introduces himself reaching across his desk with his left hand.

She takes it and shakes it once, a strong grip, her eyes dart to his other hand and she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Cooking accident,” Jon says with an embarrassed smile, Helen smiles in understanding and as a tape recorder clicks on in the background he asks, “Shall we begin,” she nods once, “Statement of Helen Richardson regarding…”

Helen’s statement sits heavy and wrong with the Spiral and Jon cannot help the pensive frown at the mention of Michael yet again. Still, when Helen is finished, a bit of relief on her features he says softly, “Thank you, I would advise you to be very careful about which door you go through, always check the colour. Hopefully, it will lose interest.”

It’s a fool’s hope, Helen has already been marked and she is not one who will walk away.

Helen pauses blinking in shock she asks quietly, “You believe me?”

“Yes, one of my assistants has encountered the being known as Michael before,” Jon replies with a gentle smile.

Helen nods and smiles carefully back before she rises to her feet, “Thank you, Jon.”

There are two doors where once there was one, it is a pale yellow, an off-yellow, like old butter, or overly saturated adds and Jon opens his mouth, “Helen-“

But she is gone.

He exhales long and slow as the door clicks shut behind her, he mourns the woman though he barely knew her. Perhaps he could have done more but Jon Knows that whatever he might have done it would only delay the inevitable.

The door creaks open, the sound is piercing, drawn-out, and Jon’s eyes snap up and watch as fingers, too long, not right, as if they have too many bones, wrap around the edge of the door and push it open.

What steps out of the doorway is only vaguely human-shaped, blond hair which spirals about its head, a face that twists and twists leaving Jon nauseous just looking at it, too long limbs shifting and twisting, writhing beneath what pretends to be skin. The being known as Michael laughs, it is a laugh like screaming, like all the horrible sounds in the world crammed into one cacophony.

“That was close Archivist,” Michael says stepping further into Jon’s office, looming over him, Jon glances up, doesn’t look away as Michael tilts its head and says, “You feel rather familiar Archivist, you remind me of her.”

“I’m not Gertrude,” Jon says quietly, he will never be Gertrude, he will never do to his assistants what she did to Michael Shelley.

Michael laughs, that horrible laugh and lunges forward its long fingers stabbing through Jon’s shoulder, his right-hand twitches in aborted movement before hot pain lances through him. He bites down on the pain and Michael tilts its head and with wide eyes says, “No you’re not. Be careful Archivist or I might just have to kill you.”

Then it is gone and Jon is bleeding.

Cursing, Jon presses his left hand to his shoulder, the blood warm beneath his fingers as he stumbles to his feet and towards the door, he pauses and stares at the door which is its normal pale brown. Grimacing, Jon grasps his bloody around the knob and twists it open.

He steps into the main room and waits until one of his assistants notices him before he asks, “Does anyone know first aid?”

“Jon, what happened?” Martin demands as he rushes out from behind his desk and towards one of the shelves. Tim stares at the blood with wide eyes and Sasha rises to her feet stalking towards the office.

“It was the uh entity known as Michael,” Jon replies through the pain as Martin reappears with a first aid box and Tim tugs Jon into one of the seats.

“Never a boring day at the Archives,” Tim teases as Martin peels away Jon’s shirt where it’s stuck to his skin with blood.

Sasha is peering inside his office with narrow eyes and Jon calls out, “If you see a yellow door, don’t go through it.”

Martin dabs at the cut with disinfectant and Jon hisses at the fresh wave of stinging pain. Martin makes an apologetic noise as Tim questions, “Why?”

“If you go through one, you’ll be trapped in Michael’s domain, not a pleasant experience,” Jon replies through clenched teeth as Martin pulls out a needle and thread.

Jon casts him a slightly worried look and Martin replies, “It’s alright I have a bit of training, makes you more appealing for a job.”

“Is that where Helen went?” Sasha asks she is closer now watching as Martin begins to stitch Jon’s wounds close. Hopefully, they will heal quickly.

“Yes,” Jon says quietly and then cannot help but add, “I tried… but well.”

Martin makes a comforting noise and Tim’s hand is warm on his arm as Martin ties off the last of the stitches. There is silence between the four of them for a moment before Jon tilts his head and says, “We have a show two weeks from now, you all are welcome to attend.”

He watches the way Sasha and Tim pause trading a glance, even Martin stares at Jon in surprise before finally Sasha smiles, pats him on the shoulder and says, “That would be nice Jon.”

The officer that walks into his office carries the Hunt with her, about her, like a shroud on her shoulders. She is broad-shouldered with short blond hair and eyes that are as cold as steel as she settles across the desk from him.

“Detective,” Jon greets carefully ignoring the way his shoulder still twinges at the movement. It would seem that his hypothesis about direct marks from avatars healing slower is unfortunately rather true.

She grunts and says, “Daisy Tonner, I’m Basira’s partner.”

With that she sets a few tapes on his desk, he cannot help the way he stares at them a mix of hunger for that knowledge Gertrude left behind and the simple desire to hear her voice again. Daisy notices, her eyes sharp, Jon gets the sense she doesn’t miss much.

“Jonathan Simms, I’m the Archivist,” Jon introduces himself with a nod, Daisy’s eyes follow the movement.

She scoffs, the sound loud in the quiet of his office as she says, “I know, what I don’t know is why Basira is giving you the tapes. Far as I’m concerned, you’re still a suspect Sims. She might not be able to tell, but I can,” Daisy leans across his desk her teeth flash sharp and too white, “I can tell a monster when I see one.”

“Like recognising like,” Jon says quietly and doesn’t flinch at the knife that presses itself to his throat, Daisy’s eyes are dark more pupil than anything else.

“Watch what you say Sims,” Daisy growls but leans back, Jon can appreciate her hesitance to murder him in the Archives, the cleaners have just gotten rid of all the blood from the infestation and it isn’t wise to do so in his domain.

Jon frowns and scrubs a hand carefully over his face before he replies, “I’m not the monster you should be hunting detective.”

Daisy tilts her head and replies, “You sure about that Sims. You have blood on your hands.”

“I do, but I didn’t kill Gertrude,” The words ring thick with truth and Daisy hums.

“If not you then who?” Daisy questions crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, Elias Bouchard killed Gertrude,” Jon says but before Daisy can reply he continues, “However, if you attempt to kill him, he wouldn’t hesitate to put you down like a feral dog. He has the power to do so too, the police and he have an agreement.”

“If I get to kill him that’s one less monster in the world,” Daisy replies and her eyes glint with the thrill of the chase.

“Much as I also want Elias Bouchard gone from this world,” Jon says with a shake of his head that fury still sitting in his chest he continues, “If you want the privilege of killing Bouchard, you’ll have to play the long game. In the meantime, I can offer you up leads.”

“How?” Daisy questions, it isn’t a no.

“Some of the statements are rather fresh, sometimes I Know things,” Jon replies staring into Daisy’s eyes.

She grunts uncrossing her arm and reaching her hand out over the table, “You have a deal. But I won’t hesitate to put you and Bouchard down Sims.”

Jon hesitates for a second before he reaches across and shakes her hand, “Of course, though I’m far more human than most of the monsters you meet.”

She huffs and pulls back staring at Jon with narrow eyes, he smiles and asks, “Would you like to make a statement Detective?”

Daisy studies Jon for a long moment, before she says, “I don’t trust you Sims, I don’t like how much Basira trusts you, but I’ll give you a statement.”

Jon savours the taste of the Buried, the mention of the coffin lingers at the back of his mind long after Detective Tonner is gone.

“You finally told them then?” Basira asks pausing in the doorway and glancing over her shoulder where _Pump Shanty_ is blaring out of Tim’s speakers, the ones he brought from home for the explicit purpose of torturing Jon. He should really do something about that, technically he could, profanity and all that. Would it be hypocritical?

“Unfortunately,” Jon replies with a shake of his head and a resigned frown.

Basira rolls her eyes the hint of a grin on her lips as she says, “Hopefully, these tapes are informative.”

“Hopefully,” Jon says in agreement and then he Knows and adds, “Be careful Basira, on your next sectioned raid bring a lot of light.”

She pauses in the doorway and pins him with narrow eyes, the Beholding flutters around her, waiting, watching, she’s curious, so full of questions she hasn’t been able to ask, and still, she waits. Basira nods and says, “I will Jon, I’ll see you later.”

Then she is gone.

Jon leans back in his chair for a moment, studying the statements laid out before him on the desk, his mug of tea has long gone cold and the hours have trickled away without his consent. Rising to his feet, Jon lets out a pained groan as his muscles protest the movement.

Ignoring said protestations, Jon steps out into the main room, he can see Tim leaning back talking on his phone, he catches Jon’s eyes and winks flirtatiously. Jon rolls his eyes and glances at Martin who is carefully filling out a few forms, Sasha is sitting at her desk typing on her laptop, when she notices Jon she waves.

It reminds him of the night before, staying too late at the Archives, yet again unsurprisingly, being nagged at by Gerry and hearing _something_ in the Archives, near the trapdoor, he asks, “Has anyone been in the tunnels since the infestation?”

His assistants pause, Martin glances at Sasha and Tim shakes his head and moves into the hallway to finish his call. Sasha glances away from her computer with a bit of an embarrassed smile and admits a touch defensively, “I’ve been going down into the tunnels, I was curious.”

“That’s fine Sasha, I never specified you weren’t allowed in the tunnels. I have a map if you’d like?” Jon says and watches the shock splash across Sasha and Martin’s faces as he continues, “I doubt it will work very well, the tunnels are liable to change. Please do be careful if you continue to explore down there Sasha, I suspect… well, I suspect there is something or someone else down there and the Eye’s connection is disturbed underneath the Institute.”

“So, Elias can’t see or hear us down there?” Martin questions breathing out a sigh of relief.

Jon smiles at him and shakes his head, “No, but I also can’t watch over any of you. Besides, in the Archives, Elias has no power.”

“When you say something else?” Sasha questions, she is pale and her eyes dart in the direction of the trapdoor.

“The Institute is not the only entrance to the tunnels, I can tell you for certain I know of at least one person who moves through the tunnels, though they will not harm you, it is best that their identity remains a secret,” Jon replies and then with a tilt of his head adds, “At least for now.”

Before Sasha can ask another question, the door creaks open admitting Tim and Melanie King.

He smiles apologetically in Sasha’s direction even as he steps forward and says, “Melanie King, welcome back.”

She rolls her eyes and nods at Tim as she says, “I’ve got another statement for you.”

“Why don’t we go to my office?” Jon suggests and adds in aside to Sasha, “I can give you the map later Sasha, just stop by my office.”

Melanie follows Jon into his office, it is still a mess, papers scattered in every direction and most days he despairs over ever organizing the Archives, would it have been so much trouble to actually organize the place, Gertrude?

Melanie flops onto the chair across from his desk, one leg kicked over the side as she raises a brow. Jon settles at his desk and tips his head in thanks as a tape recorder clicks on in the background he says, “Whenever you’re ready to being, Statement of Melanie King regarding…”

“War ghosts,” Melanie replies and Jon listens attentively to her statement, at first, he is tempted to classify it as the End, a perverted form of death. Instead, Jon Knows it is the Slaughter, so much anger and fear leaving a permanent mark, they are war ghosts after all.

Melanie finishes and rolls her shoulders asking, “So, what do you think?”

“I think I would be very careful if I were you Ms. King, do you mind if I see where the scalpel cut you?” Jon questions curious. Melanie studies him for a long moment with narrow eyes before she nods and pulls down her shirt.

Jon leans forward, he can see a thin silvery-white scar right near her collarbone, he says quietly, “I would be careful if you continue investigating these war ghosts, wounds of that nature are dangerous.”

“Actually, funny that you mention it,” Melanie says as she tugs her shirt back up, shifting in the chair she continues, “I’m heading to India, they have quite a few war ghosts. I’ll come back and give you a statement afterwards if that’ll reassure you Sims?”

“I’d appreciate it Ms. King, and I wish you luck,” Jon replies with a smile and Melanie nods and rises to her feet, she slings her bag over her shoulder and with a last wave ducks out of his office. She leaves the door open a crack and Jon can hear Tim’s voice drifting from the main room.

“Yeah, Ronnie from artefact storage says poor Sandra went missing on their routine checks, not that unusual though apparently,” Tim says in that tone he always uses when talking about workplace gossip.

Jon frowns, something about those words is sending off sparks.

“I hated working there it was so creepy, they always made me check this one room, course I was lucky to at least have a partner with me,” Sasha replies and there’s the sound of a desk chair rolling across the floor.

Jon rises to his feet, he can feel the threads at the back of his mind, they are tangled, and yet slowly but surely, he is untangling them. Stepping out into the main office Jon glances at where Sasha is leaning against Tim’s desk.

He waves cheerily at Jon uncaring about being caught at gossiping and says, “Elias wants to speak to you, Jon.”

“Joy,” Jon replies with a frown and then asks, “When did Sandra go missing?”

“Oh, right about the time of the Infestation,” Tim replies with a frown glancing at Jon with a raised brow.

He waves it aside, and then for good measure adds, “All of you please stay away from artefact storage for the next few days, I think we have a bit of an uninvited guest. I’m going to speak to Elias I should be back soon.”

If the not-them has claimed another victim then anyone could technically be it, Jon makes a note to check the polaroid pictures on Martin’s desk.

“Would you like a cup of tea when you come back, Jon?” Martin asks and Jon appreciates how they all just accept the imminent danger. He wouldn’t have chosen anyone else if given the option.

“Yes, thank you, Martin,” Jon says and with a final nod exits the Archives and makes his way upstairs.

Jon has always disliked leaving the Archives, feeling the way Elias’ eyes settle on him, greedy and hungry for any scrap he can extract from Jon. It is also so normal outside of the Archives a strange dichotomy that doesn’t sit well with him.

Elias lets Jon inside immediately and he walks forward quietly his eyes on the man as Elias fills out a few sheets of paper. He doesn’t glance up, doesn’t acknowledge Jon’s existence even after he has settled in the chair across from Elias.

He doesn’t mind, he can wait. Jon is good at waiting.

Finally, Elias sets his pen down and steeples his hands in front of his chest, his eyes search Jon like a man famished, observing the burn scar, the bandages still wrapped around his shoulder before Elias smiles and says, “Good afternoon Jon, you must be wondering why I called you here.”

To posture, or to gloat probably. Jon just nods silently.

“I’ve heard some interesting rumours about the Unknowing?” Elias says with a quirk of his lips, the expression doesn’t sit quite right on Elias’ face and Jon Knows that particular smile belonged to Jonah Magnus.

“Yes, I suspect it will occur in the next year,” Jon replies carefully.

“You’ll stop it?” Elias asks, poking, prodding, how much does Jon Know?

Jon smiles belligerently and replies, “Of course, I rather like the world how it is.”

“And the Stranger in our midst?” Elias asks, testing the waters, of course, Elias knows about it, probably even knows who its taken. Then again Jon does too, he just needs to actually connect the dots.

“I suspect it’ll be taken care of soon,” Jon replies with a pleasant smile.

Elias nods and says musingly, “I’ve always found children’s books so enchanting; they spin such a web. Don’t you agree, Jon?”

“I’ve always found them rather obvious, have a pleasant afternoon,” Jon replies and rises carefully to his feet.

He doesn’t glance back at Elias, doesn’t need to. He needs to speak to Lisa, see who was partnered with Sandra the night she went missing, whoever it was Jon suspects they are not-them anymore.

_Oh_ , Jon Knows.

It is late and the Institute is empty, or at least mostly empty.

Jon has always liked the Institute at night, it is silent and he can feel the press of the Eye watching him, guarding him, as he walks through the Archives filing statements and supplemental information.

Now, it is quiet and Jon glances at his assistants, Martin is pale but there’s a determined expression on his face as he grips the torch in his hands, Sasha is standing still in contrast to the way she is always fidgeting and her hands are pale around the copy of the map he’s given to each of them. Tim appears from the storage room a moment later with an easy grin that hides sharp eyes and a flamethrower in his hands.

“So, you found it then, I was wondering where she left it,” Jon says with a tiny smile, their home had been stocked with far too many fire hazardous materials for Gertrude to be anything but a pyromaniac. He wonders idly if that was Agnes’ influence or something entirely Gertrude.

Tim blinks and shrugs as he says, “Found it under a loose floorboard.”

“There’s probably a few of those, though I wouldn’t go looking for them,” Jon replies and when Tim moves to pass it to Jon with a reluctant expression, he waves it off.

“You’re sure she’ll-it will be here tonight?” Sasha questions crossing her arms over her chest, Jon can see the glint of the knife she pulled out of her desk, better to be prepared these days she had said.

“Yes,” Jon replies, the words stick to his throat but he Knows it to be true, the games have come to an end.

“Can we just go over what this thing is again?” Martin questions fiddling with the end of his jumper.

“The not-them is an aspect of the Stranger, it kills someone and takes their place, it erases that person from existence any photos become that of the not-them except for polaroid pictures, and your memories are altered to fit the not-them,” Jon replies quietly glancing around the Archives slowly.

“I can’t believe we almost went through artefact storage that night,” Sasha says quietly.

“And it took Lisa and killed Sandra,” Tim says and his voice is grim, Jon is beginning to see that Tim has a special sort of hatred towards the Stranger and he Knows there’s a statement behind it all.

He nods and Sasha frowns, her lips pinched and her knuckles white as she says, “So, our plan is to confront it and then what?”

“I should be able to if not banish it, then severely weaken it, I’m not certain if it is plausible to kill it through normal means. You’ve all seen where I circled on the map?” Jon questions and Martin nods and holds up his map, Jon continues, “Those are the known entrances to the tunnel, in the worst-case scenario I want you to go into the tunnels. I’ll distract the not-them.”

“Jon,” Martin says softly his eyes wide and worried.

He sighs and carefully runs a hand through his hair, the burn is mostly healed though when it’s cold it still burns and says, “I’ll be fine, you all are far more vulnerable than I am,” he doesn’t mention the promise he made that he wouldn’t sacrifice them like Gertrude.

“What do we do if we go into the tunnels and it follows us?” Tim questions shifting the weight of the flamethrower in his hands.

“The person in the tunnels should help you, it won’t come to that though,” Jon says, he Knows Leitner is still down there, went into the tunnels the other day and had a lovely conversation with a blank wall about what’s happening.

“Are you going to tell us who it is?” Sasha demands planting her hands on her hips, something creaks outside of the Archives and they all freeze for a moment, just the night shift Jon suspects, though he isn’t certain.

“You might just find out for yourselves,” Jon replies and rises to his feet slowly, he’s consumed more than a few statements today in preparation but he wishes he had the chance to consume a live one.

“I’ll go first,” Jon says quietly and before the others can protest Jon steps out of the Archives, he can feel them fall in step behind him, Martin at his left, Sasha his right, and Tim bringing up the rear as they move through the silent basement.

Artefact storage is dark but for the small glow of a lamp in the distance, suffice to say it is not a normal lamp, Jon pauses his hand on the doorknob and says, “Remember don’t touch anything in there, it could just as easily harm you as help you.”

Sasha makes an acquiescing sound, and Jon turns the knob. It squeaks and he winces even as the door creaks open and they step inside, Martin flicks on his torch, it bounces off the shelves, off vases, old phones, dolls, shoes, necklaces, anything really.

Jon moves slowly through the room careful not to bump into any of the shelves, he Knows the way, can feel the table like a hook in his gut, his thin connection to the web vibrating like a plucked string.

The secured rooms are in the back of artefact storage each one locked with a key and often containing an isolated item, Jon pauses outside of one and tilts his head with a nod and says, “This is it, behind the shelf with the twin dolls is the entrance to the tunnels. If you see a yellow door be careful, I’m not certain if the entity known as Michael will help us.”

He glances once at his assistants who nod, he pulls the key out of his pocket, an unremarkable key the steel glinting in the faint light of the torch as he inserts it with a click. The door peels open with a long low groan.

Lisa is sitting on the table, or what was once Lisa, it sits in the centre of the room and she fixes them with a wide grin, too wide as if there are too many teeth in her mouth, it distorts her face   
as she says, “That was quick Archivist, I didn’t expect you to catch on so quickly, it’s a shame I’ll have to kill you and your little assistants now.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jon says and his voice hums with static, he can taste it on his tongue, feel the power of the Eye crackling through his veins.

“Not so fast Archivist,” The not-them says and then she lunges towards them.

“Back, go to the tunnels,” Jon says as he shoves his assistants back keeping its eyes on him as he forces open his third eye and compels, “Tell me your statement.”

The not-them twitches, grinding to a halt in front of Jon, he limbs splay outwards like a spider and she lets out a pained shriek. Distantly, Jon can hear his assistants yelling his name but he cannot afford the distraction. Jon forces all of his attention on the not-them and says, “Tell me your statement.”

“I this is a distraction Archivist when I’m done, I will kill you,” The not-them rasps out, its limbs twitch erratically like a dying spider and its mouth froths as its eyes roll back in its head. Jon laughs, it is not a pleasant laugh, he presses again static humming through him, he can feel Elias eyes watching him now, and he grins.

The not-them opens its mouth again and begins to speak, the statement is _wrong_ , it is horrible full of the gloating despair the monster has caused, the lives it has taken one after another after another and the Eye drinks it all in.

Jon isn’t sure how he long he stands there, how long the not-them speaks, he Knows the others are waiting beside the tunnel door, listening to the faint sound of it speaking, worrying for him and waiting.

Then slowly but surely the not-them's statement draws to a close.

Jon exhales long and slow, full to the brim with the statement, he can feel it crackling through the air as across from him it rolls its neck and pins Jon with a wide unflinching smile, it says, “I’ll enjoy killing you now. “

“ _I Know You_ ,” Jon says softly, the words fall heavy as stone with each word.

The not-them flinches backwards and Jon opens his mouth again, already he can feel the creature across from him weakening, after all, it is the antithesis to those of the Stranger to be Known, against their very nature.

Before he can speak again it lunges forward and Jon flinches as he is pinned up against the wall, a sharp claw resting against the delicate skin of his throat. It hisses a low sound in its throat and leans forward.

“Hey ugly!” Tim’s voice cuts through the air and the not-them whirls around with a shriek, dropping Jon. He opens his mouth to protest, to tell Tim to get away when he winks at Jon and presses on the lever. A jet of flame shoots out of the flamethrower, the heat of it searing at Jon’s skin as the yellow and orange flames wrap around the not-them.

For one long moment, Jon is back in the park with Jude Perry’s hand clasped around his own.

Then, Jon rises to his feet, static crackles around him and the Eye opens as he says, “ _I Know You.”_

The not-them screams, it is a horrid, wretched, inhuman scream, and crumbles to ash on the floor. The flame thrower cuts out and Jon sinks to his knees exhausted as his third eye flicks shut, Martin is beside him a moment later with both Tim and Sasha.

“You smote her!” Martin says staring at Jon with wide eyes even as Tim carefully sets down the flamethrower.

“Are you okay Jon?” Sasha asks gently, and Jon nods sucking in a few rasping breaths of air, trying to banish the scent of burning flesh. He can still feel Elias’ eyes on him and the man’s perverse pleasure at what Jon’s done.

“I’ll be alright, I-I just need some rest I think we all do,” Jon says quietly focusing on the way Martin’s hands are warm, but not hot, on his arms and Sasha is carefully brushing ash off his shoulders.

Tim studies Jon for a long moment before he says, “How about a sleepover?”

Jon opens his mouth to say no, then thinks about sleeping alone even with Gerry there and nods once. Martin beams as he helps Jon to his feet, he can hear Sasha laughing and feel Tim’s arm wrap around his shoulders. They’re okay, they’ll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, there are a few things you might want to keep your eye peeled for in the future. Comments are always super appreciated, till next time!


	4. Part the Third

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I'm back with another chapter! Apologies this took a while, we've been renovating our house and I got distracted with other fics. I had a weird dream the other night and thought it might make a good TMA fic, it's a Hannibal Au, with like Elias as Hannibal, Jon as Will, the assistants as the research team, Georgie as Alana. If anyone wants to write or talk to me about it feel free, I really don't have time to write it lol. Anyways, read on!

In the aftermath of everything, they go back to work.

It feels strange to return to the Archives the next day as if nothing’s happened, as if Lisa is still in artefact storage, but that wasn’t Lisa and Jon doesn’t have any photos of her just the knowledge that the memories are _wrong_. He didn’t know her well and yet a part of him can’t help but mourn her, mourn that she was dragged into this to prove a point, to test him?

Jon is the first to arrive, too early, but he could only take so much domesticity, the secrets inside his chest bubbling up and tasting like guilt. Tim sprawled on the couch his feet hanging off the end as he snored softly, Martin curled up on the arm chair, looking so small his glasses almost falling off his face, Sasha blearily sipping tea at the table and watching them all with something fond.

Jon sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now, keep researching? The Unknowing is still a threat, well not a potentially world-ending threat, but a threat nonetheless. Even if they don’t need to stop it a part of Jon is tempted to interfere, to carry on Gertrude’s legacy, to carry some piece of her with him. Is that what she would want for him?

She never seemed to want anything for Jon. Maybe she had already accepted that Jon would inevitably end up at the Institute.

“You’re being morose again,” Gerry says quietly from where he’s leaning against the couch dragging his fingers idly over the knit blanket before he continues, “I can feel the texture of this beneath my skin, it’s soft.”

“Gerry,” Jon says quietly, unsure really of what to say, he leans back in his chair surveying the statements sprawled across his desk before he asks, “What do you think it means?”

“Hard to say,” Gerry shrugs, he pauses in thought and Jon indulges in staring for a long moment, the slant of his nose, the way his piercings glint in the harsh fluorescents before Gerry continues, “I don’t feel the urge to ‘haunt’ people or tell them of their imminent death.”

“But you can sense someone’s imminent death?” Jon questions softly, pulling a statement close and glancing idly at it, the Stranger lingers and the Eye is all too pleased.

“I-maybe? It’s like how as everything gets solid I can… feel it? I would keep a close Eye on Tim, maybe it’s just the Eye though,” Gerry replies rubbing his fingers idly over the eyes tattooed onto his joints.

“How’s that even… you chose to align yourself with the Beholding,” Jon muses quietly, staring at Gerry and wishing he had a cup of Martin’s tea.

“Well apparently death didn’t stick,” Gerry replies tilting his head back, he has a cigarette which trails wisps of silvery smoke. He tips his head back, his eyes dark like a void where they look into Jon’s as he continues, “But I’ve never been scared of dying, used to think it would be kind of nice honestly. The real world? That’s scary, that’s terrifying. Every day I used to wonder what Leitner Mary would bring home, which one I would accidently or be forced to open just to test a theory. Death was constant, almost comforting.”

“I- Gerry,” Jon says, the words trip off his tongue fragile like glass and he longs desperately, aches, to reach out and wrap his arms around Gerry.

“It’s fine Jon,” Gerry says nonchalantly, takes a long slow drag of his cigarette and exhales before he asks, “What about you, ever fear death?”

“Only the normal amount,” Jon shrugs considering it for a moment before he continues, “I’ve always feared what comes before death more. Death itself can’t be Known, not really, but before? That can be painful, it can be humiliating, torture, even dying in your sleep isn’t nice.”

“Morose,” Gerry says but doesn’t disagree, they both don’t speak about the antiseptic smell that sometimes lingers, the way just faintly Jon used to hear the distant beep of hospital monitors in his dreams.

There’s a soft knock on the door and then Martin’s voice, “Jon, would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you Martin,” Jon replies and then pauses before he adds, “Are you all alright?”

There is silence for a moment before the door clicks open and there is Martin in the doorway, his hair is tousled about his head and there are bags under his eyes but he is smiling as he waves to Gerry and replies, “I think we’re as well as we can be today. I don’t think we’ll get much work done though to be honest.”

“That- that’s fine, you all deserve to take a break. But uh if you do any work, any statements related to the Stranger please send to me,” Jon replies running a hand through his hair and just drinking in the sight of his assistant alive and well.

“Will do Jon,” Martin replies with a smile before he huffs and continues, “And you go easy on yourself as well.”

“No promises,” Jon says with an apologetic smile, earning an eye roll from Martin before he shuts the door behind him with a click.

“So, we going to talk about that? Since we’re doing our once a month ‘emotions’ session apparently,” Gerry asks, he’s shifted so he’s hanging upside down on the couch, smoke drifting from his lips with each breath.

“Talk about what?” Jon questions with a raised brow shuffling the few statements aside until he finds one that the Eye practically purrs at.

“You’re obtuse but not that obtuse Jon,” Gerry says with a shake of his head, tapping his finger against his cigarette and dusting Jon’s carpet with ash.

Jon sighs, glancing around his office idly as he replies, “Obviously, you didn’t know me when I was dating Georgie. I didn’t know we were dating until three months into our relationship. She had to tell me.”

Gerry fixes Jon with a disbelieving look and asks, “So, you were extra rude to Martin because you have a crush and you’re a literal child so you did the equivalent of pulling his pigtails?”

“No,” Jon says sullenly glaring at Gerry when the door creaks open and Martin appears with a mug of tea in his hands. He glances between Jon and Gerry with a raised brow as he carefully sets it on Jon’s desk earning a soft murmur of thanks before, he departs.

“So, you’re just afraid to get close and be emotional then,” Gerry says his words are gentle but they still drag the breath from Jon’s lungs kicking and screaming. He clears his throat and doesn’t glance in Gerry’s direction, just studies the shelves and imagines Gertrude sitting here, reading statements. Gerry huffs and with a sigh says, “You know he has a crush on you right? I mean have you seen the way he looks at you?”

Jon blinks, thinks about it for a second before he protests, “It would be completely inappropriate.”

“You all don’t seem to care about the dress code much,” Gerry tilts his head at Jon’s skirt before he continues, “And in any case, you’re hardly actually his boss, that’s really more Elias, unfortunately.”

Jon grumbles for a moment smoothing his hands over his skirt, it was one of his mom’s and it’s simple and practical, he studies Gerry, smoke curling from his lips and asks, “And how do you feel about it?”

“You going to therapize me now Sims?” Gerry jokes with a puff of smoke, rolling his eyes before he continues, “I just want you to be happy Jon. Martin’s nice, he knits and he likes poetry, he’s like too nice for you honestly.”

“I know,” Jon says with a long inhale before he tilts his head and with a frown says, “Elias is here.”

“Should I stay here? May give him a bit of a spook?” Gerry asks as he rotates upwards, shakes his head, and stubs his cigarette out on the couch.

“No probably for the best Elias isn’t aware of… well everything,” Jon replies glancing at Gerry with a faint smile.

“Yeah, yeah, Fear Gods forbid Jonah Magnus doesn’t Know something,” Gerry replies and with a wink fades away leaving only the smell of cigarettes on the air. Not a second later there is a knock on his door before it swings open.

“Good morning Jon,” Elias greets with a pleasant smile, or at least a mimicry of one.

“Elias,” Jon replies, he’s too tired to deal with it all this morning, to play the games of subtle intonation and guessing. Jon sometimes wonders how Gertrude did it for so long, so many years and so much fear, and yet she never really became the Archivist.

Elias invites himself inside, the eyes that aren’t his scanning the stuffed shelves as he settles lithe as a cat across from Jon, he smiles, teeth too white, too perfect as he continues, “Lisa’s family has been informed about her tragic accident, condolences have been sent, the table is also being sent to Hilltop road. I must say, I’m rather impressed Jon, you are becoming such a perfect Archivist.”

“Thanks,” Jon says, shuffles through a few statements, eyes flicking up to glance at Elias before he continues, “Everything could have been avoided if the table was moved earlier.”

“Perhaps, but then the not-them would have just claimed another victim, don’t you think this is a much better alternative Jon,” Elias replies, leans forward so that Jon can see how wrong the eyes in his skull actually are.

He hums in mild agreement and says, “I don’t want my assistants to get hurt. I’m not Gertrude.”

“No, you’re a far better Archivist than Gertrude,” Elias purrs with a pleased smile, he looks at Jon like he owns him, like he’s made Jon (he hasn’t). It burns liquid hot in his throat and bounds his ribs tight with twine. Elias tips his head and says, “I’ll leave you to your work Archivist.”

“Don’t endanger my assistants again,” Jon says quietly and the space between them stretches and crackles with the weight of the Eye, bearing witness to it’s favoured ones. Jonah Magnus has long served the Eye, has built a temple of Knowledge, but Jon, he is the Archives itself, he is the Archivist, born and shaped and moulded for it since before birth.

Elias pauses in the doorway, he is in Jon’s domain and they both Know it, “Your assistants aren’t my responsibility Jon, I can’t keep an eye on them at all times.”

“There is someone in the tunnels,” Jon replies quietly, confidently, a statement not a question, he continues, “He Knows a lot Elias. So, do I. Don’t endanger my assistants.”

Elias blanches for a single second before it’s swept under the rug of cool confidence as he smiles a plastic smile and replies, “Of course, Jon. Though, do be careful who you trust, it’s so irritating when information turns out to be incorrect.”

Then Elias is gone.

Jon leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath, scrubbing his hand over his face as if it can erase the faint scent of Elias’ expensive cologne and the words bouncing around his skull. Reaching forward, Jon takes a slow sip of the tea, it’s warm and chases away some of the chill.

In a minute, he’ll get up and speak to his assistants, answer what questions he can about yesterday, tell them what little he Knows about the Unknowing. In a minute.

“What do you mean a research trip?” Sasha questions carefully, her arms crossed over her chest as she carefully observes Jon, where he stands hesitantly in front of his office. Jon sighs and scrubs a hand over his face glancing at Tim who is scowling, and then to Martin who just looks concerned.

“Look, I have a few potential leads into what Gertrude was looking at before she died which may help us with stopping the Unknowing,” Jon replies itching at the back of his head and resisting the urge to flee back into his office. But that’s where the budget forms that ‘mysteriously’ appeared on his desk are and Jon doesn’t need Elias’ poking and prodding to get the message.

The only question is why. Why does Elias want Jon out of the Institute, what does he possibly have to gain? Jon would be perfectly happy to hide away in the Archives and let the outside world be as terrifying as it wishes. He doesn’t know why, but Jon feels as if he could, he’s missing pieces to a puzzle, the corners, so all that he has is middle pieces, a hard place to start.

“The ritual which we don’t even need to stop,” Tim says with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest, his face is clouded with emotions and Jon wishes he could help, wishes he Knew what to say to make it better. But he doesn’t and it aches.

Jon nods scrubbing a hand over his face as he leans against the wall before he replies, “Yes, we don’t need to stop this ritual and I completely understand if you don’t want to help or get involved, though that may be a bit hard considering the nature of the Institute. The reasons I have are for the most part quite selfish, a desire for some semblance of safety, to see if I can’t find what Gertrude was researching before her death, why she thought burning the Archives was the answer.”

He trails off with a shake of his head, sometimes he wishes that he had been there that night in the Archives, could ask her why burning the Archives was the answer. To stop the Eye’s ritual? To damage Elias?

“Jon, we understand why you want to stop the ritual,” Martin begins carefully.

“I for one fully support you,” Tim says with a smile that is all teeth, all the kindness in his eyes stripped away to something aching.

Martin shakes his head with a huff of laughter and continues, “We’re just… why are you going alone?”

“Oh,” The word falls almost unconsciously from his lips as he glances at his assistants for a long moment before he hesitantly continues, “I… I want to protect you all, I don’t- I don’t really have to worry about myself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean Jon? You don’t care about your own life?” Sasha demands, she’s risen to her feet, there’s a flush on her cheeks. Tim beside her has gone very still staring at Jon like he might vanish while Martin is gaping.

“No,” Jon protests shaking his head with a frown, he glances around the office searching for one of their supplemental evidence boxes. He walks over and pulls it out searching through the bags as he continues, “I’m… I can’t exactly get hurt like you. I’m not human anymore, not really.”

As if he ever really was human.

Jon finds the pocket knife he Knew was there and turns to face his assistants catches the horror on their faces as Jon holds the knife over his hand and says, “Look,” with a careful motion he slices through his arm.

“Jon!” Martin surges to his feet, Sasha echoes his name as his blood drips onto the floor, the red stark in the greys of the Archives.

“Look,” Jon says quietly and holds his arm out where the cut is already sealing over not even leaving a faint scar behind. Tucking the knife into his pocket Jon scrubs a hand over his face and continues, “You know we all serve the Eye yes? Each entity has… avatars, people who dedicate themselves to that entity, who become reflections, or rather conduits of that entity. To Become though, you must make a choice, a hundred choices, and usually, a fair bit of death is involved. Jane Prentiss was an avatar of the Corruption, Michael is an avatar of the Spiral, and I’m an avatar of the Eye.”

The cut has finished healing completely and there is a stark silence in the Archives as Jon shifts on his feet and glances up, catches the mute horror on their faces. He wants to hide away from this confrontation of his own monstrosity.

“And did you make that choice Jon?” Martin asks softly and Jon startles glances at him for a long moment.

A bitter laugh trickles from Jon’s lips and with a shake of his head he says, “Of a sort, I choose to take this position and that’s good enough.”

He never really had a choice, he was always destined for this, was always going to belong to the Eye.

“And was there any death involved in your choice, boss?” Tim asks he is staring at Jon with narrow eyes, can he see now how much of a monster Jon is?

“I haven’t killed anyone if that’s what you’re asking,” Jon replies feeling a sick swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach as he continues, “I didn’t kill Gertrude if you were going to ask. I was fortunate, my Becoming didn’t involve death.”

A death of sorts, it could be argued.

“And what does it mean that you’re an… avatar?” Sasha questions, she looks less horrified now, just curious.

Jon runs a hand through his hair, leans against the wall and tries to reply, “Each entity provides different… powers. You’ve seen what Prentiss and Michael could do. The Eye, well let’s just say that when I ask a question the person has to answer. I- sometimes I Know things, facts, knowledge. I am still bound to a fear entity, I… feed on the fear of being watched, of being known, or knowing too much.”

“So, what statements are like a snack for you?” Tim questions leaning back in his chair, he looks less angry and it loses some of the tension wrapped around Jon’s chest.

“Basically?” Jon replies and then adds, “It also has the uh benefit of making it harder to injure me.”

“And because of that we’re all just going to stay here while you go risk your life,” Sasha states crossing her arms over her chest again.

“You could die! They won’t hesitate to harm you, I won’t be another Gertrude, I’m not going to let you die if it’s within my power,” Jon replies rising fully to his feet, his spine stretching and straining as static crackles on the air.

“Jon,” Martin, voice so cautious and yet sweet, “You can’t protect us forever, can’t cage us up.”

“I Know, that’s not- that’s not what I mean. I just, I don’t want to take unnecessary risks. The Dark it’s- they’ve lost a lot of their power base but they’re one of the Eye’s most dangerous enemies. The Dark, the Buried, and the Stranger, all antithesis to that which watches, and sees, and knows,” Jon replies exhaling and forcing himself to calm down.

“At least take one of us with you Jon,” Martin suggests staring at him with those warm eyes. What did Jon do to deserve that warmth?

“I-alright, if I can convince Elias to approve the budget,” Jon replies with a shake of his head before he adds, “In the meantime, you all need to be safe, please. Stay away from aspects of the Stranger, they’ll be on the offence with the ritual near.”

“So, we should definitely wait to investigate the Trophy Room?” Sasha questions as she settles back at her desk, the tense air isn’t quite so tense, almost normal once more.

“I- yes please, I have a… consultant who might be able to deal with it better,” Jon replies carefully before he tilts his head, “Apparently, we have a visitor.”

A few seconds later, the door to the Archives slams open revealing Melanie King, she raises a brow at the four of them and stomps inside. Jon tips his head in greeting and asks, “Have a pleasant time in India Ms. King?”

“I got shot by a ghost,” Melanie replies with a shrug, she rolls her eyes before stating, “I want to work here.”

Tim stops spinning in his chair, Sasha makes a sharp choked off sort of laughter sound, and Martin turns his attention fastidiously to his computer. Jon frowns studies Melanie for a long moment before he says bluntly, “You really don’t want to work here.”

“What-“

“Oh no, he’s right,” Tim interrupts with a laugh that is all sharp edges as he continues, “We can’t even leave, nasty contract bit like a cult really.”

“Are you joking?” Melanie demands crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at both Tim and Jon.

“He’s not,” Martin says quietly staring at Melanie until she shifts uncomfortably and he continues, “I’ve never been so terrified for my life all the time since I started working at the Institute. It’s really not worth it.”

“No offence Ms. King, but I really don’t think this is the right job for you,” Jon adds carefully, watches the way Melanie scrutinizes them for a long moment.

A second later her shoulders deflate and with a scowl, she replies, “You’re probably right. I just- don’t really know where to go from here.”

“You’re still interested in the supernatural?” Jon questions, there is an idea tickling the back of his mind.

“’Course, I still haven’t really figured out the whole ghost thing,” Melanie shrugs with a shake of her head, shifting so her weight is resting mostly on her right leg.

“I have an idea,” Jon says with a tiny little smile.

Melanie studies him dubiously for a long moment before she rolls her eyes and with a gusty sigh says, “Sure, why not.”

“Jon?” Georgie questions as she opens the door to her apartment, she’s got a What the Ghost shirt on and a pair of joggers, her hair a frizzy mess about her head as she stares first at Jon and then at Melanie.

“Hi, Georgie,” Jon says with an embarrassed smile and presses a chaste kiss to her cheek before he adds, “Melanie needs a place to stay I was wondering if you had any room?”

“You know I have room, don’t play all innocent Sims,” Georgie says with a roll of her eyes pointing at Jon before she smiles at Melanie, her eyes crinkling at the corners and says, “Why don’t you both come in.”

Georgie’s apartment is tiny, as most apartments in London are, plastered with old band posters, their old faded blue couch from uni, and Ikea furniture. Jon flops onto the couch with a sigh, the faint scent of cigarettes and too much sage as familiar as anything can be. He beams when he hears the Admiral chirp and the cat jumps onto the couch.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy before,” Melanie says with wide eyes as Jon brushes his fingers through the Admiral’s fur, earning the soothing sound of purrs which fill the small apartment.

Georgie laughs as she settles in the armchair with a mug of tea and says, “Jon likes to act all proper but he’s really not. Did you know he was in a band?”

“Georgie,” Jon protests plaintively as the Admiral curls up on his legs.

“No way,” Melanie says leaning forward as if this is the best thing she’s heard in weeks. Perhaps it is.

“Immortal space pirate cabaret,” Georgie says with a pleased little smile that curls up right at the corners of her lips. Jon glares at her and continues to pet the Admiral who will never bully him and is, therefore, Jon’s favourite.

“Oh my God,” Melanie says with wide eyes before she leans back satisfied and asks, “How do you two know each other?”

“We dated in uni,” Georgie admits with a smile, she winks at Jon and he rolls his eyes leaning back into the couch and closing his eyes for just a moment.

Melanie raises a brow, she glances between Jon and Georgie and questions, “Really?”

“He didn’t wear oxfords in uni,” Georgie admits with a laugh ignoring Jon’s resigned stare before she straightens and asks, “So, what’s the deal? You’re totally welcome to stay Melanie, I just need to know if someone’s been accused of murder again.”

“It was once,” Jon protests, rolling his eyes.

Melanie shakes her head and replies, “You heard about the inglorious dissolution of Ghost Hunt Uk?” Georgie nods sympathetic, “Well I’ve been investigating these ghosts, ‘war ghosts’ I call them. Went to India to investigate, got shot, don’t have anywhere to go, don’t really know what to do.”

She explains in that light airy way people use when they don’t want you to question anything too deeply.

Georgie raises a brow, studies Melanie for a long moment before she shrugs, “Well I have an extra room and I wouldn’t mind some assistance with the podcast.”

Melanie blinks stares at Georgie for a long moment before she smiles, it’s a nice smile, she has dimples, and says, “Thanks.”

“Jon, help me bring out the cutlery, you both might as well stay for dinner, I can tell Melanie embarrassing stories,” Georgie teases scooping the Admiral into her arms regardless of his indignant meow. Jon groans and ignores Melanie’s muffled laughter as he follows Georgie to the kitchen.

Georgie sets the Admiral on the counter and turns to Jon, arms crossed over her chest with a raised brow. Jon runs a hand through his hair, leans against the counter, thinks of a hundred nights in their dingy dorm doing the same before he finally says, “She’s going through a bit of a rough patch, and I don’t know you were the first person I thought of. She’s been Slaughter touched; she shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Okay,” Georgie says after a long moment, she pulls something out of the fridge and adds, “I needed a roommate anyway.”

“Keep an eye on her leg, I think there’s something wrong with where she was shot,” Jon adds as an afterthought reaching down to scoop the Admiral into his arms and cradle him to his chest. Georgie hums shoving Jon carefully out of the way.

“Speaking of company, you need to visit more often, seeing you at shows isn’t enough,” Georgie says tugging on a lock of his hair as she sets a pot on the stove.

“I know, I’ve been busy Georgie,” Jon replies quietly, running his fingers through the Admiral’s soft fur. She studies him for a long moment before she leans forward and wraps her arms around him and presses a kiss to his cheek. Jon melts into the embrace regardless of the Admiral’s protest.

“Go show Melanie your band and we’ll call it even,” Georgie whispers as she pulls back and turns to add something to the pot.

“You’re evil,” Jon accuses with a pout and she only laughs.

“… then I saw her, Jessica, but she didn’t look like Jessica anymore, she was just filled with these holes, and there was… there was something in the holes, it moved. She smiled at me and suddenly I knew if I didn’t run, I would die or I would become like her,” The man, Kit, trails off gasping for breath, his eyes are wide, pupils dilated, reliving his fear.

Jon drinks it all in, feels the Corruption humming beneath his skin, the itch to pick at his scabs.

“Statement ends,” Jon breathes out, leans back and studies Kit for a long moment before with a softer expression he continues, “You should be fine now Kit, the thing that once might have been Jessica won’t come after you.”

“How can you be sure?” Kit asks, his breathing has evened out a little and he’s staring at Jon with a dubious expression.

Jon shrugs with a hum and replies, “I know these things. Here’s my card, if something happens feel free to call.”

The card is a pristine white with only his name and phone number, there is nothing else. Kit studies it dubiously for a moment before with a sigh he takes it and tucks it into his pocket, he’ll leave it there until it gets ruined in the wash but that’s not Jon’s problem. Besides, Jon has at least eased some of Kit’s fears.

Kit throws one last glance at Jon over his shoulder before he slips out of the alley. Jon usually prefers to claim a statement in a café, a comforting environment with witnesses, but Kit’s statement had called to him, dragged him into the alleyway.

“Sims,” Daisy’s voice drifts from the mouth of the alleyway, she stands there one hand on the gun at her side as she studies him with narrow eyes.

“Detective,” Jon replies with a tilt of his head, leaning back against the brickwork and watching her with wary eyes. Distantly he can feel the Hunt urging him to run, to hide, to give chase. Daisy huffs and stalks into the alleyway, she fills the space where Jon rather obviously does not.

“You always do this in alleyways?” She questions crossing her arms over her chest as she leans against the brick across from him. Jon can see her debating whether to put him down now or to wait until after Elias is gone.

“I usually prefer somewhere a bit more hygienic,” Jon replies with a shrug glancing at the street which is littered with broken bottles and some used needles; pleasant.

Her lips actually curl into a grin for a moment as she says, “Wouldn’t expect anything less from you Sims. You always this monstrous?”

Jon flinches just slightly at the word, he’s not even sure why he should be used to it by now, shouldn’t he? Jon laughs, a bitter laugh, stares into Daisy’s eyes and replies, “We all have to feed somehow.”

Daisy’s lips curl into a cruel frown and she takes a menacing step forward practically looming over Jon. He raises a brow ignores the way his heart is attempting to beat out of his chest, he’s a tiny bit afraid and she can smell it on him.

Finally, Daisy pulls back and asks, “Got anything new? The remnants of the Lightless Flame or whatever were pathetic.”

“Actually, I do. How is Basira by the way?” Jon questions leaning back against the wall behind him, it’s rough and he focuses on not Knowing everything about this particular alleyway. He could always ask Ash about Basira, but well this is more fun.

Daisy’s eyes narrow, suspicion and distrust playing across her features before she finally concedes, “She’s been researching, looking into everything, she’ll probably drop by the Archives at one point,” It’s an unsaid threat but Jon gets the message, Daisy continues, “What’s the lead?”

“A taxidermy shop, the Trophy Room, aspects of the Stranger, I’d like you to take a look. If you find anything you can bring it back to the Archives, but I’ll be gone for a few weeks, off to investigate a lead,” Jon replies pulling out a piece of paper with the address scrawled in Sasha’s neat handwriting.

Daisy takes it with a raised brow and asks, “That all?”

“Feel free to take some liberties for information, but they’re of the Stranger and rather resistant to physical pain. If it’s possible I’d like to Know where the ritual will be,” Jon replies carefully, tries not to let it show how desperately he wants to Know.

He obviously doesn’t succeed if Daisy’s amusement is any indication, she just takes the address and tucks it in her pocket, “Anything else?”

“You’ve dealt with Perry?” Jon questions his burned hand twitching in remembered pain.

Daisy grins, it is a feral grin, and replies, “That one tried to run.”

They’re just two monsters enabling each other, aren’t they?

“Well if you can sniff out an avatar of the End, not to kill mind you, I’d appreciate it,” Jon says playing with a tear in his sleeve and thinking of Gerry.

“I’ll see what I can do Sims, happy hunting,” Daisy replies with a pleased grin and shifts off the wall, leans into his space for just a moment to make his heartrate rise, before she laughs, cruel, and turns down the alleyway.

Jon watches her go in silence for a long moment before with a sigh he scrubs his hand over his face and exits the alley.

“Why is it so bloody cold?” Tim whines tucking his parka tighter around his body, he glares at Jon and says, “Don’t even begin the whole farther from the equator or whatever. Why did the Dark have to do their ritual here of all places?”

Jon grins at Tim where they stand a short distance away from the abandoned research base, it is dark inside, not even a speck of light, Jon replies, “Least amount of light.”

“Oh of course,” Tim replies rolling his eyes and stamping his feet before he glances at the abandoned building and asks, “Do we have to go in there? Because I for one value my life and would not like to be the start of another horror movie.”

“Well you don’t have to go in there,” Jon shrugs hefting the bag over his shoulder, it’s stocked full of flashlights. Tim has his own bag which just might contain Gertrude’s old flamethrower.

“I’m not going to wait outside,” Tim protests with a roll of his eyes and adds in a whisper, “Sasha threatened to delete all the games off my phone if I didn’t keep an eye on you. I think the only reason she didn’t come is because she knew how much of a mess Martin and I would have left the Archives in without you two.”

“Probably,” Jon agrees and with a sigh starts forward along the gravel road, it crunches beneath his heavy boots as Tim follows beside him.

“So, what’s the plan here? We just barge in; you ask questions and then leave? How many people are even going to be here?” Tim questions waving one hand in the air before instantly regretting the motion and tucking it close to his chest.

“I’m not certain what to expect, I can’t exactly Know. What I do know, is that since Maxwell Rayner was killed, the Dark has been lost, whatever is here, and I have my suspicions, it’s important to them,” Jon replies tugging his own jacket tighter around his body.

“And how is this supposed to help with the Unknowing?” Tim questions leaning closer to Jon so that he can see the white puffy mist of his breath.

“I doubt it will tell us much, but it might give us a clue as to what Gertrude was doing. I have no doubt she was well prepared to stop the Unknowing even before she found out it was unnecessary,” Jon says, rubbing his hands over his arms as if it might cajole some warmth back into his body.

He remembers sitting with Gertrude at the kitchen table, microwaved tea remembers her talking into the phone about explosives, her tried and true method of dealing with rituals. He remembers the way she had hesitated, just a split second, and he can’t help but wonder when she connected the dots.

“And if you find nothing here?” Tim questions, as they draw closer to the research base the sky above seems to grow grey and cold.

“Then I’ll pick up another cold trail, Gertrude visited Beijing and America, I suspect there’ll be a clue there somewhere,” Jon replies with a shrug, he Knows Elias will approve it too. And if those trails are dead-ends? Then Gerry might know something as well.

Tim is quiet for a long moment as they plod along the wall, the research base, a low one-story building, seems to loom in the desolate landscape. Finally, Tim pauses and turns to face Jon studying him for a long moment, “Are we going to talk about what happened on the ship?”

“Hmm?” Jon asks carefully, almost overly casually if he’s being honest with himself.

Tim’s eyes narrow, studying Jon as if he could see through him before he asks, “Do you always do that? Pluck a statement from someone?”

“I-not always,” Jon replies carefully, fiddles with the zipper of his coat for a minute before he continues, “I… part of being an avatar is ‘feeding’ the entity, the Desolation destroys, the Spiral confuses, and the Eye thirst for Knowledge. If I- if I don’t have any statements, I get weak, sick, I suspect I wouldn’t die. It’s similar to how those bound to the Archives will become ill if on extended leave.”

“Why not just stick to paper statements?” Tim questions and he sound honestly curious.

Jon laughs quietly and then replies, “Imagine a written statement as an appetizer, a snack, a live statement? That’s a full course meal. I try to be human about it, comfort them, offer them what resources I can, but it’s… I made peace with it a long time ago.”

“How long, ago Jon?” Tim questions sharply.

“Ah, we’re here,” Jon says glancing at the research building and not glancing into Tim’s eyes, can’t speak about it not now, not here.

Tim sighs and sets his bag down, pulls out the flamethrower as Jon pulls out a torch, “Anything, I should or shouldn’t do?”

“Don’t touch anything and stick close,” Jon replies as he pushes the door open, it creaks horribly and opens onto a stretching hallway filled to the quick with darkness, an unnatural sort of darkness not even breached by the scant rays of sunlight from outside.

Tim sucks in a sharp breath but only follows Jon quietly as he steps into the research base. Tim’s hand, warm and larger than his own, latches carefully over Jon’s and he squeezes back as he leads Tim further into the darkness.

Jon walks carefully forward, each step confident, even as he feels his connection to the Eye grow stretched, thin, as if blanketed. The only thing that fills the darkness of space around them is the sound of their breaths irregular and too loud or too quiet.

They step into a space that is wide and empty, their footsteps echo in the space and they pause, Jon flicks on the torch but it only shines for a few feet. Tim shivers and says quietly, “I hated going down the stairs at three am, especially after watching something creepy it was always like this.”

“My grandmother had nightlights in every room,” Jon replies, their apartment was never dark, and listens carefully as he spins the torchlight around, in the distance, however faint, he can hear the sound of footsteps. Swallowing, Jon pulls on the Beholding and questions, “Who’s there?”

The static fills the air, straining, stretching, before finally a voice, “The Dark.”

“And who of the Dark?” Jon demands as the footsteps draw near, Tim lifts the flamethrower, his fingers hovering over the trigger.

“Manuela, and what is one of the Eye doing here?” The woman demands, Jon cannot see her in the darkness, not really, but he is certain she is near, where the darkness is just slightly different, “Come to follow up on our ritual? There’s nothing here for you. Not after your Archivist destroyed it; it would have been perfect.”

“Gertrude didn’t stop your ritual,” Jon says quietly, feels Tim still and silent beside him.

The darkness solidifies however slightly as Manuela draws near, her breath hot where it brushes against Jon’s cheek, “And how would you know?”

“Because I am the Archivist and the night of your ritual Gertrude died,” Jon replies and the words sting and hum with static.

“So, what you’ve come here to gloat then?” Manuela demands, one hand brushing however faint against Jon’s shoulder before it is gone, swallowed by the darkness.

“No. Do you know anything about the Unknowing or Gertrude?” Jon questions and the static is muffled by the darkness but it cannot be silenced, not really.

Manuela laughs, sharp like razors, “Nothing that would help you Archivist, and what do you expect me to tell you because I’m somehow in your favour now that you’ve told me Gertrude didn’t stop our ritual? Years of planning gone to waste! It was supposed to be beautiful, a world of eternal darkness.”

“Tell me,” Jon demands and she does, about the Dark Sun, about the space station, about the ritual, failing one by one, a darkness falling of its own accord over its acolytes, and here Manuela waits, alone. Jon drinks it in a tape spooling softly in the background and Tim silent and drawn beside him.

Finally, she finishes and for a second there is a stalemate before Jon asks, “Will you show me it?”

“Jon,” Tim protests his hands shifting on the flamethrower.

Manuela laughs, a door creaks open and Jon Knows if he walks forward, he will be able to see it, “Your curiosity blinds you, Archivist, be my guest.”

“Jon, don’t,” Tim protests, one hand wrapping around Jon’s arm, warm even through their gloves.

“It’ll be fine,” Jon reassures patting Tim lightly on the arm, in the distance he can hear Manuela say something derisive but the Dark has swallowed him, it blots out the eye as ink spills across paper, it is comforting almost, familiar, and is accompanied by the taste of that primordial fear of the dark, or what lingers just out of sight.

The door creaks open wider and Jon steps inside, it is a small room, or perhaps it is a large room, all that falls away as he opens his eyes and stares at that which is light made dark, which swallows all that sees and knows, which is the absence of all, it is the creeping of night fallen like the tide, it is gorgeous.

The Dark wraps tighter around Jon, almost strangling him but it does not kill, cannot blind him. The Dark Sun beats like a heart, pulses of darkness snapping like electricity as Jon trails his fingers over it.

Then he steps out of that darkness and is in the circle of Tim’s warmth once more.

“Well?” Manuela asks, expectant, like she can’t wait to hear what horrors spill from his mouth.

“It was beautiful,” Jon says softly, loops his fingers with Tim’s and grounds himself there in that moment, in Tim’s presence until the Darkness surrounding them isn’t quite so dark.

Manuela freezes for just a moment before she replies carefully, “Good. You didn’t destroy it?”

“No,” Jon replies running his fingers up his arms, blinking his eyes as if it might chase away the afterimage of the Dark Sun, he replies, “I didn’t see a reason to.”

“Is there anything else Archivist?” Manuela demands her fingers fan lightly over his cheeks, just under his eyes before she pulls away again.

“No,” Jon replies and he Knows she is gone. Scrubbing a hand over his face, careful to avoid his eyes, Jon tugs on Tim’s hands and leads him out of the room, their footsteps echo loud and all around the.

“Well that was basically useless,” Tim says quietly when they’re in one of the hallways with a bit more light.

“Basically, though not completely useless,” Jon replies as they step out into the cold air, the sun is slanting towards the horizon bathing everything in cool grey as they suck in deep lungfuls of icy air.

“What was it like?” Tim asks as they start the slow trek back to the car.

Jon considers the question for a long moment before he replies, “You’ve heard of those sensory deprivation pods? The ones you can only stay in for so long?” Tim nods, “It was like that, it was so dark it didn’t look real, it was warm, comforting, the space before existence.”

“It doesn’t sound like something scary,” Tim says swinging his hand still entwined with Jon’s.

“It was terrifying in its own sort of way, where do you begin and where does the darkness end? It was nothing, to be nothing, to not even exist,” Jon replies quietly and in the chill air, the words sit heavy, frozen to only be revealed centuries later.

Tim doesn’t say anything in response, just loops his arm tighter with Jon’s for a good long while as they walk, finally he says, “Are you sure you’ll find anything in Beijing or America?”

“No,” Jon replies and then adds, “But I might as well search.”

“We want you to be safe too Jon,” Tim says quietly tugs Jon tighter against his side in an almost hug as they both pause. Jon swallows those words down, tucks them somewhere safe and grasps Tim’s hands just a fraction tighter.

Coming back to the Archives is like coming home. Jon is jetlagged, exhausted because he’s never done well with travel, and longing for his own bed, but when he steps into the Archives a sense of _right_ washes over him.

It’s early in the afternoon and both Sasha and Martin are at their desks. Martin is the first to notice and shoots to his feet rushing over to study both of them with careful eyes, Sasha follows at a more sedate pace.

“Are you both okay?” Martin questions carefully, his hands hover hesitantly over Jon’s arms, like he wants to tug him into a hug or maybe just inspect him.

“We’re fine,” Tim replies with a shrug before he glances at Jon and continues, “Or at least mostly, Jon looked at the Dark Sun, so not really sure what that means in the long-run?”

Jon glances at his shoes, they could use a polish, when both Sasha and Martin pin him with disbelieving stares. He swallows and gather’s his courage before glancing up and replying, “I’m uh fine? I suspect I might be able to see in the dark better?”

Sasha glances at Tim for a long moment with a sort of ‘how could you let him do this’ expression before she sighs and says, “Well I suppose it’s better than a burned hand.”

“You won’t have to worry about that anymore,” Jon replies hesitantly and glances briefly at Martin, who is studying Jon all worry and concern that makes his chest bubble up with warmth, before glancing at the floor.

“And why is that?” Sasha questions crossing her arms over her chest even as she steps back letting them into the Archives.

Tim immediately goes to his desk to dig through a few statements while Martin asks, “Should I make some tea?”

“Please I’m still cold,” Tim groans out as Jon glances at Sasha, still staring expectantly at him.

“I uh, may have told Daisy about her,” Jon mumbles and sees out of the corner of his eyes as Martin pauses at the door to the breakroom and Tim lets out a whistle, “I-we have a sort of agreement.”

“We gathered as much when she dropped by the other day with a body,” Sasha says casually, raising one brow as she studies Jon. Ah shit.

“Oh? That’s… well, I was hoping, uh was it still alive?” Jon questions shifting carefully on his feet.

Sasha rolls her eyes and glances at Martin who just bites his lip and ducks into the break room. Tim is staring at Jon with an expectant expression but it’s Sasha who speaks first, “She wanted me to tell you, they think Gertrude has the ‘skin’, presumably the really old one from that one statement, and that it’s definitely connected to the Stranger. It’s in the tunnels, I uh asked for help from our resident cryptid, other than you obviously, you can go and speak to it, but I want to come.”

“I see,” Jon murmurs processing the information before he questions, “And did she mention anything about a location for the Unknowing, or uh the End?”

Sasha stares at him with a dull sort of expression for a long moment before she shakes her head with a long exhale and says, “No, nothing about that. She said you can get the answers yourself. Want to go see?”

“Yeah,” Jon says as Martin exits the breakroom and passes a mug of tea to Jon, he smiles in thanks and his heart decides to skip a beat at the flush that blossoms over Martin’s features. He doesn’t have time for this.

Sasha just nods, takes her mug from Martin and says, “I’m going to take Jon to the tunnels.”

“Have fun,” Martin says with a sigh glances at Jon for a long moment before he pads over to Tim’s desk and delivers him his mug.

Jon follows Sasha into the storage room where the trap door is and watches as she pulls out a key twisting it into the padlock she admits, “I’ve been doing some more exploring, the whole not-them threw me off for a while, but well I got curious,” she wrenches it open and adds, “It’s almost nice once you get used to it down there.”

“If you say so,” Jon replies mildly as he follows her into the tunnels, Jon pauses and takes a sip of his tea before he questions, “If- if you find the centre, the old prison structure, let me know please, it’s important.”

“The Panopticon, right?” Sasha questions as they move through the tunnels. Jon shivers at the faint feeling of the Eye, the way the tunnels seem to loom over him.

“Yes, how did-,”

“Tim likes to infodump about Smirke,” Sasha says with a pleased little smirk as she walks confidently through the tunnels, she pauses one hand resting on the tunnel walls and asks, “Did you learn anything in Ny-Ålesund?”

“Nothing of note,” Jon replies as they turn down a long tunnel which ends in a door.

Sasha hums and produces another key which she uses to open the door, inside there is a chair and chained to that chair is what once was Sarah Baldwin. Jon saw a picture of Sarah Baldwin when he first read the Anglerfish statement. The thing in front of him is a stranger, with only the slightest of similarities, enough to make you second guess yourself if you saw her on the street.

She blinks and smiles when Jon steps into the room, Sasha behind him as she says, “Archivist, so you’ve finally deigned to make an appearance.”

Jon studies it for a long moment before he asks, “Where will the Unknowing be held?”

Static crackles and fills the small space between them, Sarah rolls its head, twitching in the chair before it finally grounds out, “The House of Wax, in Great Yarmouth.”

“What is the purpose of the Trophy Room?” Jon questions again, though the Eye may be distant, Jon carries too much of it within himself to ever truly be distanced.

“Taxidermy, I thought the Archivist was supposed to be able to read?” Sarah replies blandly, tilting her head to pin Jon with a satisfied expression. Jon just raises a brow and presses, the static pushing, stretching, pulling, Sarah makes a pained noise and her head jerks back before she gasps out, “To store artefacts, there happy Archivist?”

“Any questions Sasha?” Jon asks leaning back against the wall with a raised brow.

Sasha makes an amused sound low in her throat before she replies, “Not at the moment, perhaps later.”

“What you’re just going to leave me tied up to answer questions at your leisure?” The thing that was once Sarah demands.

Jon smiles, it is not a kind smile, and replies, “The alternative is being utterly Known, I will pluck your statement from you and afterwards you the Watcher shall Know you utterly. So, for now, I would enjoy the break.”

The fear that statement brings sits low and heavy in his stomach as he exits the room, Sasha follows silently behind him and locks the door staring for a long moment at Jon as she asks, “What was that?”

“Intimidation tactics?” Jon suggests scrubbing a hand over his face.

Sasha stares at him for a long moment before she nods and says, “Come on, the Archives have been too quiet without you and Tim.”

“Yeah… I-I could use a smoke,” Jon says scrubbing his hand over his face again.

“Street entrance to the left if you want,” Sasha suggests with just a hint of reprove to her features.

“Thanks, Sasha,” Jon says and for a moment there is a flash of Knowing so strong he can’t help but add, “Basira Hussain might come by the Institute this week, if I’m not there, give her access to our libraries, please? Don’t let her sign an employment contract.”

Sasha studies Jon for a long moment, her eyes sceptical before she nods, “Sure, Jon.”

He quirks a smile and with a wave turns and takes the tunnel she had pointed out. It’s different, being alone in the tunnels, just the sound of his own footsteps, the Knowledge that there are creeping crawling things, watching, waiting.

The exit is a vent and Jon rolls his eyes before climbing to street level, it opens onto an alleyway a few streets from the Institute. The air is warm on Jon’s face as he leans against the brick, and digs out his smoke pack and the lighter from the Web.

“You’ve taken something of mine Archivist,” a voice drifts from the alleyway, it is almost familiar, high.

And then Jon Knows nothing.

They blindfolded and gagged him, it does little to actually diminish his powers, mostly it just makes everything hypersensitive. Jon Knows that the statues that surround him are just off enough that it’s hard to tell who they were meant to be; disconcerting. He Knows that Elias cannot See into the heart of the Stranger, just as he Knows that his own powers are all but useless.

The door creaks open and Jon tilts his head, wonders if it is Breekon and Hope again, to discuss the logistics of communism while they moisture him; the less said the better. But no, the clack of plastic on the floor indicates it is Nikola.

“Hello Jon,” Nikola greets, the cool plastic of her fingers drags against his cheek, that voice, it is familiar, he Knows it from somewhere and yet he cannot place it, Nikola laughs sharp and high, “Your skin is coming along quite nicely. Soon I might even be able to wear you and how fun will that be! I wonder if Elias- can I call you Elias- is listening? Elias? Do you see how lovely your Archivist looks, imagine how nice he’ll look when I wear his skin.”

“Why are you doing this?” Jon demands around the gag static attempting to crackle off his tongue and fill the air around him. The gag isn’t as much of a barrier as one might wish, its really about intention with the Watcher; it still sucks.

Nikola just laughs tapping her fingers over the gag she tuts, “None of that Archivist, as to the reason why? Well to bring about that which is not Known of course! It will be wonderful and terrifying, the great Unknowing. But well I’ll leave you to your sulking Archivist unless you’d like to tell me where the skin or our dear Ms. Carpenter is?”

“Fuck you,” Jon says through the gag.

He muffles a pained sound when Nikola yanks harshly on his hair forcing his head back, he can’t see her, nor can he feel breath against his skin as she leans close, “Do we need to wash your mouth out with soap Archivist? Your skin is looking so nice lately, I would hate to ruin it.”

Jon feels a pang of fear that he can’t quite dismiss as Nikola let’s go of his hair, his head flopping weakly forward. She laughs and then the door creaks shut behind her and Jon is alone once more.

It is in this solitude that he can’t help but wonder if anyone is coming.

Daisy wouldn’t come for him, he’s just another monster and if this puts him down well that’s just one less monster for her to gut. Georgie probably isn’t even aware he’s missing unless anyone tells her. His assistants have probably put the pieces together, they probably Know where he is but Elias wouldn’t let them act, would he? Maybe they have something planned, but it’s been almost a month as far as he can tell so he’s given up hope.

A door creaks open, it is not the door to the room he’s being kept in, this door creaks like a scream and is accompanied by a laugh like migraines as Michael states, “Archivist it seems like you’re in quite the sticky situation.”

“Michael,” Jon says from behind the gag as Michael laughs, the sound bouncing off and around him, twisting up his senses.

A sharp finger brushes against his jaw before cutting carefully through the gag, it trails higher, threatening injury, before cutting through the blindfold, dangerously close to his eyes. Jon blinks at the light flushing everything and works his jaw staring, but not too hard, at Michael, who shifts and twists endlessly.

Michael’s hand stretches, long too long, like photoshop gone wrong and slices through the zip ties binding Jon’s wrists. He exhales at the release of tension and slowly stretches out his wrists, he glances up at Michael and asks, “What-,”

“Ah, ah Archivist,” Michael chides one finger, too long, too sharp to be even remotely human, coming to rest against his throat, “I’m going to kill you now.”

“Why?” Jon questions softly, feels the shift of Michael’s fingers pressing against his throat, a trickle of blood wells up from where one digs into his throat.

“Because I thought you could stop the Unknowing, but now well, this will just be easier,” Michael replies with another titter of migraine-inducing laughter, his blond hair waving about his head, twisting and twisting.

“It will fail on its own,” Jon says carefully, doesn’t look at Michael when he adds, “Just like the Great Twisting would have failed even without Gertrude doing-,”

Michael’s fingers press cutting off Jon’s words and he glances up with wide eyes at Michael, who is twisting in and in on himself with furious eyes as he breathes out, “Are you telling me this was for nothing? This body which is so wrong?”

“I’m sorry Michael,” Jon says and he means it, wishes somehow that he could have saved Michael Shelley.

Michael steps back raking sharp fingers through his hair with a puff of laughter that is disbelief and horror mixed together as he says, “Gertrude was far more terrifying than most of the entities I suppose. Michael Shelley died believing he was doing the right thing, poor innocent naïve Michael,” he whirls on Jon and asks, “Will you enter my domain Archivist?”

“Will you kill me?” Jon retorts as he rises shakily to his feet, leans against the chair for one long moment until he’s stable.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Michael trills and Jon nods sucks in a breath. If he dies, then he dies, though he doubts the Beholding would let go of him that easily.

He walks forward to the off yellow door, like a yellow sign left in the sun or old paint and wraps his hand around the doorknob. With a final inhale, Jon thinks of Gerry, of Martin, Georgie, Tim, Sasha, and twists the knob.

“It’s locked,” Jon says quietly glancing over his shoulder as he uselessly twists the knob.

“That’s not possible,” Michael says and Jon steps out of the way watches as Michael twists the doorknob and it opens. It is a blur, a great twisting of shapes and images that leave Jon light-headed as he blinks and the image in front of him resolves itself into, “Helen.”

“Helen, yes that is me or rather I was once Helen, it’s really very confusing,” Helen, or perhaps what was once Helen says smoothing her too long fingers over her striped pencil skirt as she studies Jon.

“I’m sorry,” Jon apologies carefully studying the door and Knowing that Michael is gone, Jon prays he finds release.

“Whatever for?” Helen asks with a titter of laughter that is sharp as knives, she continues, “I am a much better fit than Michael. Well, are you coming Jon? The Circus will take note soon of my presence.”

“I- yes,” Jon says and glances once over his shoulder at the room before he steps through the yellow door.   
  


Jon stumbles out of the Distortion’s hallways eventually, there are flashes inside his head, of following Helen, the hallways, shifting, undulating around him, Becoming and Unbecoming all at once. Helen is quiet for the duration of the walk, but Jon catches her glancing at her too long fingers, or tilting her head, as if hearing something distantly.

He steps out of her door and into the Archives.

For a moment, there is silence, clear as crystal and then someone shoots to their feet as he stumbles, he thinks it might be Sasha, and says, “Jon.”

Arms wrap around his body and carefully hold Jon up, his legs still feel weak, he feels weak; he hasn’t had a live statement in a month. It’s Martin, his hands gentle and warm around Jon as he carefully sets him into an office chair.

Jon blinks, still disoriented at the bright light until he can clearly see Martin, his face pinched up with worry, brows furrowed, Sasha hovering beside him one hand tentatively resting on Jon’s arm. He musters up a half-smile though he knows it’s more of a grimace and says, “Hi.”

“Are you okay, Jon?” Martin questions reaching out to rest the back of his hand against Jon’s forehead. Tim appears, with the first-aid kit tucked under his arm as Martin explains, “Elias wouldn’t tell us what happened, he just said you were ‘alive and doing fine’.”

“No offence boss you don’t look fine,” Tim interjects as he passes Martin the first-aid kit, he gives Jon a once over and then adds, “In fact, you look like shit.”

Jon coughs weakly, so, Elias didn’t even tell his assistants what had happened and with a faint smile, murmurs, “Thanks. I was kidnapped by the avatar of the Stranger, Nikola.”

“Kidnapped,” Sasha says the word carefully, shaping it for a moment before she adds, “Right after you went to get a cigarette?”

Jon just nods and lets Martin carefully check his body; he doubts he’ll find any external wounds with how careful Nikola was with his skin. Internally? Jon doubts he’ll ever be able to put on moisturizer again.

“Are you- is everything okay?” Martin questions gently from where’s inspecting the rough bruises doting Jon’s wrists.

He thinks about it for a moment before he shrugs and replies, “It uh wasn’t as bad as it could be, I suppose. Nikola mostly just monologued and uh,” Jon paused for a long moment biting his lip before he continues, “Threatened to wear my skin? There was a lot of moisturizer involved. Mostly, I’m just hungry.”

There’s a poignant silence for a moment, Sasha’s expression twists into something grim and determined as she rises gracefully to her feet and heads into the mess of the shelves. Martin’s hands wrapped around Jon’s arms tighten for a moment before Martin exhales slowly and asks, “How did you escape?”

Sasha returns with a stack of statements which she sets carefully beside him, he glances at them and can tell their all true. Inhaling, Jon scrubs a hand over his face, he glances at his assistants for a long moment before with a sigh he responds, “Michael came to-well to kill me. But the door was locked and he was… replaced by Helen.”

“So, he’s gone?” Tim asks quietly, one of his hands is resting lightly on Jon’s knee and he grounds himself in that sensation and resists the urge to reach out and snatch a statement as he nods.

“How… how have you all been?” Jon questions softly as he carefully stretches out his hands muffling a pained hiss the movement brings.

“We’ve been worried sick about you Jon,” Sasha says with a half-smile reaching out to carefully run her fingers through his tangled hair before she continues, “We’ve been looking into statements on the Stranger, trying to uh organize the Archives as much as possible. You were right, Basira came by and I gave her access to the library, the Detective came by the other day, offered to help find you, we uh didn’t take her up on the offer.”

“She’s terrifying I don’t know how you deal with her Jon,” Martin says with a shake of his head as he rises to his feet and sets the first-aid kit on the table.

“With a healthy serving of knowledge on the Hunt,” Jon replies with a shake of his head before he glances at his assistants, “I’m glad you’re all okay.”

“Thanks, boss,” Tim says with a grin patting his knee before he lights up and adds, “Sasha forgot to mention, you know that calliope in artefact storage? It went missing. The culprit’s pretty obvious. Elias didn’t seem to care.”

“There’s not much we can do about it now,” Jon replies, he scrubs a hand over his face. He’s beyond exhausted, it’s hard to sleep in the domain of your enemy, and he needs to read a statement, it’s a thrumming headache threatening to build and the nauseous twist of his stomach.

“I- where do we go from here?” Sasha questions carefully, she sounds tired, and now that Jon’s looking, he can see exhaustion pulling at her features. They all look tired and worn and it burns somewhere inside Jon’s chest.

“Gertrude had plans to stop the Unknowing, I-if we can find whatever it was it might help. In the meantime, we research and wait I suppose,” Jon says shifting slightly on the chair, he longs for the couch in his office, or Georgie’s couch which is familiar and comes with the bonus presence of the Admiral.

“So, what you’re going to head off to Beijing now?” Tim asks almost but not quite harsh, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I need to speak to Gerry first,” Jon says quietly, even the act of talking feels draining, he continues, “He might know what Gertrude was doing.”

Jon’s eyes catch on Martin who is blushing, Jon raises a brow and Martin shrugs and replies, “Gerry was helping us categorize the statements, we’re not quite as adept at it as you are Jon. He… uh was really concerned as well.”

Jon gets the sense that something else happened but he doesn’t push.

“You’ll get the hand of it eventually,” Jon yawns and rubs gently at his wrists, “I- if you all don’t mind, I’m going to go read these statements and then head home?”

Sasha makes a face but its Tim who says, “Jon you were kidnapped, go home, take a few days off.”

Jon smiles, it’s barely a smile, “I’d rather not be alone for too long.”

Before his assistants can reply Jon pulls himself to his feet and tucks the statements under his arms, with a wave he heads into his office and shuts the door behind him. For a long moment, Jon stands in his office, just staring at the stacks of paper, the boxes, he can see a tape recorder on his desk along with an old mug of tea.

Sighing, Jon takes a few steps and collapses on the couch face down. He rolls over after a minute and begins to shuffle through the statements, searching for one that the Eye might be satisfied by.

“You’re back,” Gerry says suddenly and quietly, one ghostly hand hovering over Jon’s cheek.

He closes his eyes and leans into the contact, a chill seeping into his skin as he glances up at Gerry. There are tears gathering in his eyes, can the dead cry? Gerry huffs a laugh and leans forward, rests his forehead against Jon’s and says, “You stupid bastard.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon replies, he wipes away the tears which are like ice.

Gerry huffs another laugh and leans back studying Jon, his eyes flickering from his bruised wrists to his gaunt expression and asks, “What happened? I couldn’t find you. Couldn’t Know where you were.”

“Nikola,” Jon says the name carefully, almost weightlessly and watches as Gerry pushes away, he stalks around his office for a moment, his shoulders shaking as the temperature of the room begins to drop. Jon’s heart twists in his chest and he can’t help the tender touch to his voice, “Gerry.”

“She didn’t… you’re okay?” Gerry pivots returning to Jon’s side, one cold hand wrapping around his wrist. Jon is getting sick of that question.

“Well enough, I’m tired and hungry,” Jon replies with a shrug before he continues, “I Know you don’t like to talk about it, about her, but do you remember anything Gertrude was planning to deal with the Unknowing? She didn’t tell me much.”

Gerry hesitates, he inhales, even though he doesn’t need to, before replying, “I… yeah. She didn’t tell anyone much. There’s a storage unit on an industrial estate up near Hainault. She said she rented it under the name Jan Kelly, and hid a key for it somewhere in the Archives.”

Jon reaches out, wishes he could tuck Gerry into a hug for both of them, and asks, “Do you Know what’s in it?”

“No, you know how she was,” Gerry replies, rubs a thumb over Jon’s wrist, the sensation faint.

Jon nods rests one hand on Gerry’s cheek and with a crooked smile replies, “Thanks, it’s better than going to Beijing or America.”

“Get some rest Jon,” Gerry replies glancing away to stare at the opposite wall before with a final half-smile he is gone. Jon stares for a long moment at where Gerry had been before he pulls a statement out, the recorder clicks on in the background.

The phone ringing pulls Jon out of the dream, nightmare rather, the subway compartment crumpling on her and the old man, and all Jon can do is watch, watch as the Buried tries to claim her. He flings one hand out grappling around his drawer until he finds his phone. Blearily, and still catching his breath, Jon slides the call button and croaks out, “Hello?”

“Jon?” It’s Georgie, her voice is hushed as she continues, “Something… there’s something wrong with Melanie and I don’t know what to do. She... she almost stabbed someone. I don’t think it was human, but she’s- I’m worried Jon.”

It takes him a long moment to comprehend her words, as he does, he swings out of bed throwing aside his covers and tugs on a jacket, it’s still cool for July, before he finally responds, “I-okay. I’ll be over in a minute. Can you get uh some disinfectant ready? And uh do you have a scalpel?”

He steps out of his apartment, the one he rarely uses these days, and into the cold night air, it’s sometime between early morning and late into the night but the tube is still running. He holds the phone up to his ear as he walks quickly down the street and can hear Georgie shuffling as she asks, “Are you sure Jon?”

“Yeah,” Jon replies as he slips into the underground, it’s empty and suddenly Jon can hear Karolina’s voice echoing inside his head. He digs through his pocket until he finds his Oyster card and waits for the tube.

“I-I’ll go talk to her,” Georgie says quietly and there’s the sound of shuffling, distantly a meow.

“Don’t hang up please,” Jon asks suddenly before he can really think about it the words have slipped from his lips. The train pulls up in front of Jon, it looks normal right? He steps onto it with a soft inhale.

“Jon?” Georgie asks gently, he can hear the sound of a door creaking open, a groggy voice.

“Just till I’m off the tube, please Georgie,” Jon can’t help the residual fear that is thickening his voice, his hands are shaking as he settles on one of the patterned chairs, it looks like the pattern in a bowling alley and Jon focuses on that and the sound of Georgie breathing on the other end.

“Okay Jon,” she says softly, the connection is shaky but it’s still there, just five stops, he can do this, distantly he hears her continue, “Melanie? Jon’s coming over.”

A pause. The train rattles over the tracks and Jon sucks in a breath and forces it out. He shouldn’t be scared, this is ridiculous.

“Something’s wrong, he’ll be able to help. Do you trust me, Melanie?” Georgie asks her voice is warm with affection and for a moment Jon’s heart lurches in his chest a strange mix of longing and jealousy.

Then the connection cuts.

Jon pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at the disconnected call for a long moment. His heart-rate has spiked, he can feel it hammering in his chest as the train begins to slow to a stop. He can’t see out the windows, there is just darkness, old ageing advertisements for loans and public safety.

The metal of the compartment creaks around Jon as the doors chime open onto heavy darkness. No. It is not darkness, Jon Knows darkness, has seen its very essence. This is a choking thing, packed earth which begins to spill into the compartment, pressing against the walls.

Jon clutches the phone tight to his chest and lays on the bottom of the compartment floor, he can see the metal of the roof beginning to crumple above him and all he can think about is how dirty the floor is. His chest feels tight as dirt surrounds him, it presses against him as if in an embrace but it is too tight, too much.

The walls shriek and scream around him, there is no one else in the compartment and Jon is going to die alone. He is going to die and leave his assistants alone, leave Gerry alone. He can’t think, can barely breathe in the thick air, the stale heavy air of the underground.

Jon shuts his eyes as the walls crush further around him, he can feel them now, pressing into his skin. It reminds Jon of the time as a child he got stuck between two walls and had to shimmy out. This isn’t nearly so pleasant.

He can’t breathe. He doesn’t need to, not really. But he can’t, he can feel his ribs groaning and he cannot Know, cannot see past the choking sensation that surrounds him.

His phone rings.

Jon’s fingers move without thought, pressed tight against his chest he is still able to slide his fingers.

“Jon?” Georgie’s voice is horribly distorted and blurry but still there.

“Georgie,” Jon croaks her name, torn from his throat.

And then, then he breathes in. The walls which press in around him retreat, they uncrumple, or perhaps they always were as they look normal when Jon hesitantly opens his eyes. He is in a different compartment and the train is moving.

“Is everything okay?” Georgie asks as Jon stumbles to his feet leaning heavily against the wall and sucking in deep breaths that still taste like dirt.

“Not really no,” Jon replies as the train slows to a stop, it’s the one he’s getting off at.

Jon steps out of the train before the doors can close behind him and inhales for a long moment in the underground, the phone still tucked against his ear as Georgie sighs and says, “Melanie agreed.”

“I’m almost there,” Jon replies as he steps out of the underground and sucks in the chill night air. For a long moment, he stands there, just breathing, feeling the air against his skin before with a shudder he starts to walk to Georgie’s place.

She buzzes him up and opens the door when he gets there. Georgie studies him for a long moment before she pulls him into a hug, he goes tense for a second before he sinks into it because it smells like Georgie, it’s warm and breathing. She pulls back, rubs her thumb over his cheek, it comes away streaked with dirt, and says, “Go wash up, she’s asleep I’ve moved her to the kitchen.”

Jon nods and trips into Georgie’s bathroom, the Admiral twining about his feet.

He’s a mess, his hair is tangled about his face, his glasses askew, and there’s dirt everywhere. Jon’s hands sink into the counter as he breathes staring into his own eyes before with a rough exhale he begins to scrub at his skin.

When he finally feels clean, Jon stumbles out of the washroom and into the kitchen.

Georgie looks him over once before she nods, there’s a stove with boiling water, a scalpel laid out on a clean sheet, and Melanie unconscious on the dining table, which has a cloth on it. Jon steps forward and carefully examines her leg, he can See the bullet there, pulsing and seeping like rust through her system.

“You going to be able to do this?” Georgie asks, one hand settling warm on his shoulder, holding him there, as she jokes, “Cause that’s my girlfriend.”

“Yes, I- I can do this,” Jon replies seriously and pushes up his sleeves as he selects the scalpel he adds, “Hold her down please?”

Georgie holds Melanie’s arms down as Jon carefully slices into her calf, blood wells up from the cut but Jon ignores it as he draws on the Eye’s power and reaches into Melanie. The bullet hums beneath his fingers, he can taste blood. He pulls the bullet out.

Melanie jerks awake with a loud cry and lashes out one hand catching on Jon’s arm and scratching hard enough to draw blood before Georgie pins her arms to the table and says, “Melanie! I’m here, you’re okay, it’s just Jon.”

He stumbles away, half-listens as Georgie calms Melanie down as he takes one of the disinfected cloths, bandages, and gauze. He passes them carefully to Georgie staying well out of the way of Melanie’s range and focusing on his arm which is still bleeding, though slowly.

Jon glances at Georgie, she’s carefully wrapping Melanie’s leg, all the while speaking in a comforting tone, like one does to a feral animal, she glances up and catches Jon’s eyes. He nods and whispers, “I’ll head home now. Call me and let me know how she’s doing. Get some over the counter antibiotics and don’t let her walk for the first two days.”

“Thank you, Jon,” Georgie says and with a final nod, Jon exits the kitchen.

He leans down and runs his fingers through the Admiral’s fur as he shrugs his jacket back on and with a final pet exits her apartment. He can still smell blood. Inhaling, Jon takes the stairs and steps out into the cool night air.

“Sims, I can smell blood on you,” Daisy says from the mouth of the alleyway nearby, her eyes are luminous in the dark, too bright, her teeth glinting white and sharp.

“Hello Daisy, Sasha tells me you have some information?” Jon replies, tries to ignore how his hackles are raised and his chest feels too tight all over again.

Daisy steps out of the alleyway, she’s wearing a jacket and he Knows there’s blood on the sleeves as she grins, “I’ll tell you if you give me a bit of a chase, I’ve been bored lately. I promise not to kill you too.”

Jon starts to run.

“What do you think is in all these boxes?” Martin asks as Tim finishes lifting the storage compartment door, it had parted with the ground with a mighty screech that made everyone wince. Jon surveys the inside of the storage compartment, there are stacks of boxes, shelves with books and other artefacts, clothing, strange machinery.

“My bet is on statements or research of some kind,” Sasha says as with a grimace as she tucks her hair behind her head and rolls up her sleeves.

“I’m betting on explosives,” Tim says cheerily as he wipes away at the sweat on his brow and steps into the small box and begins to rifle through the first cardboard box he finds. Jon hangs on the outskirts unwilling to go into such an enclosed space so soon after…

Martin pats Jon on the shoulder as he follows Sasha inside and says, “Perhaps it’ll be some artefact of the Eye, like a crown or something.”

“What kind of artefacts would the Eye have?” Sasha questions musingly as she flips open a box, she pulls out her gloves and with a frown, carefully places a few books on the ground.

Jon considers the question for a moment before with the Eye humming in his head he replies, “Most of the artefacts belonging to the Eye are more subtle than the other entities. A painting that is always watching you. A book with all the knowledge in the world. A mirror which shows the deepest parts of yourself. There was temporarily a crown of the Eye…” Jon trails off clutching at his head for a moment as static hums, he can feel Elias watching him as he forces the words out, “But that ritual failed and so there is no Watcher’s Crown.”

Silence for a few scant moments before Tim says, “Honestly, the Eye is like the least scary of the fears. Who’s afraid of being watched or knowing too much?”

“Tons of people Tim,” Sasha retorts and then a second later, “With the age of technology and cameras, the Eye has only become more powerful, right?”

“Yes, in a world where every moment of your life could be viewed by the government and other forces, the Eye has become rather powerful. Certain fears are… primordial, the Dark, for example, is a fear that has been with humanity since its birth, whereas a fear like the Flesh is newer, and in some ways less powerful.”

Tim places a box by Jon’s feet and he smiles in thanks and flips through the statements inside, most of them are true.

“So, there could potentially be new fears?” Martin questions where he’s setting aside a box full of dresses, they would probably fetch a nice price in a vintage store.

“Yes, I… there are suspicions in the academic circle, and I suppose in whatever you would like to call the world of the supernatural that there is a new fear emerging. I’ve heard it’s been called the Extinction.”

“That makes sense sadly,” Sasha says as she shifts aside another box of books.

Jon hums in agreement and flicks through a few more statements as his assistants’ sort through the boxes. Martin emerges with another box of statements which he sets beside Jon with a tiny smile as he asks, “Will… will the Unknowing be like the statement Elias showed us?”

“In some ways,” Jon replies carefully, he pushes aside the thought of Elias’ smug expression when they were called up to the office and Jon newly marked by three entities; there’s something to that thought but he can’t parse it. He chews over it for a moment before saying, “It will be all that is Known, Unknown. You will not know yourself, or each other, reality itself will become Unknown.”

There’s silence for a long moment and Jon can’t help but add, “I still think one of you should stay behind,” he can see them starting to protest and he shifts, ignoring the way it pulls at the deep scratches in his thigh and continues, “If we die, and no one is going to, then someone will have to take up the position of Archivist. We-I cannot allow Elias to appoint someone else to the position, someone who is completely naïve, that he could twist to his will with ease.”

“Jon, it’s not fair to ask one of us to stay behind,” Tim says crossing his arms over his chest, he’s paused in searching through one of the boxes and is leaning against the wall, pinning Jon with his eyes.

“I know,” Jon replies quietly and for a moment that is all he says before with a sigh he pulls on the power of the Watcher and with a unique insight on what it feels like, blankets them from Elias’ sight, he continues, “That’s not the only reason though. I suspect- no I Know Elias has statements in his office among other things. If one of you stays behind and I can convince the person… well, I suppose I should tell you all. It’s Jurgen Leitner in the tunnels. If I can convince him to distract Elias, one of you could investigate his office.”

“Hold up did you just say, Jurgen Leitner?” Sasha questions her voice is sharp as a wire.

Jon swallows and nods carefully adding, “He worked with Gertrude after… well, everything. He’s not the creator of the books, just a collector who thought he could handle their power.”

“What?” Tim asks staring at Jon with wide eyes like he’s expecting Jon to tell him its all a joke.

“We can come back to that later,” Sasha says with a particular glare in Jon’s direction before she continues, “But let me get this straight, you want to use the Unknowing for one of us to sneak into Elias’ office and see if we can find any dirt?”

“Essentially, yes,” Jon replies with a shrug right as Martin pops up from the back of the storage unit.

“I think I found the uh- the skin,” Martin says holding what looks like a very old hide in his hands, its damaged, spotted with burns, in fact, it looks more burned then skin really.

“Well I suppose that solves that problem,” Tim says with a smile as he opens another box and then adds, “And here we have the explosives. A lot of explosives.”

“Check the other boxes carefully please,” Jon says as Tim brings the box into the sunlight, he can see C4 bundled up carefully and can’t help but ask, “How did she get it here?”

Tim scoffs and with a shake of his head replies, “Probably, nothing legal.”

“No, definitely not,” Jon agrees as Martin brings out another box, Sasha follows and that’s already three boxes of C4.

“So, this changes things a bit,” Sasha says, her hands are planted on her hips as she stares down at the boxes of explosives with a small quirk of her lips.

“Yes, for the better I think,” Jon replies glancing at the boxes, his gaze switches to his assistants as he continues, “These can be detonated remotely, which means if we set them beforehand we just have to be close enough to detonate them during the Unknowing.”

“But you still want one of us to stay behind,” Martin says as he emerges with another box, there’s a slight frown tugging at his lips as he says, “I’ll stay behind.”

“Martin,” Tim says quietly, not a protest, just something fond and warm that makes Jon’s chest lurch.

“I should be the one to stay behind,” Sasha says biting her lip, but Jon can tell she’s curious, just like him; she would have made a good Archivist.

“No, I’ll stay behind, Elias won’t suspect me,” Martin replies, the line of his shoulders straightens slightly as he nods and sets the box carefully on the ground.

Jon studies his assistants for a long moment, this could be the last time they’re all safe and together, he might not make it through the Unknowing, Sasha or Tim or God even Martin might die.

“There’s something I should tell you all,” Jon says quietly, he studies the boxes of C4, can’t bring himself to look at them as he continues, “I… My mother’s name was Gertrude. Gertrude Robinson.”

“I’m sorry what,” Martin says quietly and Jon glances up quickly, just enough to catch a sight of Martin’s wide eyes his mouth agape, Sasha has her hands clasped over her mouth, and Tim is standing still as stone.

“She had a one night stand some thirty or so years ago and decided to keep me,” he glances away, “She made a deal with the Eye to protect me, she bound me to it and in exchange, no one Knows, no one can See, can scent it or tell or force me to say it.”

“Oh Gods,” Sasha says in a low whisper.

Tim says shakily, “When you said you made peace with it a long time ago, that death wasn’t involved…”

“I never really had a choice, I was always going to be the Archivist,” Jon shrugs, feels the Eye purring at the back of his mind, a sense of _rightness._

“I’m sorry that you lost her Jon,” Martin says quietly, but sincerely one hand settles warm on Jon’s shoulder and he glances up at Martin with a facsimile of a smile.

“We always knew it was a dangerous job… I- at least I was prepared. And I’m not going to let Elias get away with it. There’s more I have to tell you- about Elias,” Jon pauses rubs his hands together before he continues, “He’s not Elias Bouchard, not really. Jonah Magnus attempted the Watcher’s Crown, it failed, but he gained immortality of a sort, he’s able to transfer his eyes into the body of another person and… become them? Posses them? The Elias Bouchard you all know is actually Jonah Magnus.”

“Jonah Magnus as in the founder of the Institute from the 1800’s correct?” Tim questions sitting down on a box full of books.

“Yes.”

“And what does he want?” Sasha questions, she’s also sitting down now, her knees tucked close to her chest. Martin, still standing next to Jon, looks faint and washed-out in the evening light and Jon’s heart aches for his assistants.

“To complete the Eye’s ritual, to gain immortality. He Knows that the rituals can’t succeed I suspect he’s found a way, or at least he thinks he has, to complete a ritual. But I’m not certain, I-I can’t simply Know.”

“That’s something we can deal with after the Unknowing,” Sasha says pragmatically before asking, “Is there anything else we should know Jon?”

“He can uh See through any representation of an eye, a picture, a necklace, even other’s eyes. But like me his power is muted, distorted, buried, in the tunnels,” Jon replies carefully risking a glance at his assistants.

They don’t look angry, just like they’re processing everything.

“Next you’re going to tell me you’re the messiah,” Tim says in a tired sort of joking tone.

“Well actually…” Jon trails off with a grin thinking of Agnes Montague, Martin’s hand tightens on Jon’s shoulder and he carefully rests his hand on top of Martin’s as he continues, “Those are the important things, the rest is for later.”

Sasha laughs, “Yeah these boxes aren’t going to move themselves. And I for one would like to go home tonight.”

Tim laughs and picks up another box with a shake of his head, Martin squeezes Jon’s hand with a gentle smile and Jon grins back as he turns and walks into the storage unit. Sasha fixes her hair and with a roll of her shoulders follows. Jon watches them for a long moment and wonders if he’ll ever see them again.

The very air feels _wrong_ , stretched thin, elongated, as if Jon is moving through molasses, it tastes sour and brushes up against his skin. Of all the rituals Jon could have chosen to stop it would not have been the Unknowing. He feels blinded, his connection to the Eye tangled up within itself.

Jon carefully sets another C4 down and glances around him, Tim is helping Sasha set another one down the hallway. The wax figurines, just slightly off, not quite right, watch on with empty glass eyes.

“How much longer do you reckon boss?” Tim questions straightening and planting his hands on his hips, Jon can still hear him talking about his brother Danny his voice soft, vulnerable in the half-light of Jon’s office.

“I-it’s hard to tell,” Jon says rubbing a hand over his face as he digs out another pack of C4 before he replies, “I’ll Know when it starts, you two are leaving before then.”

“Jon,” Sasha says quietly, she’s holding the C4 carefully in her hands, her glasses catch a faint glint of light from above.

“I’ll be able to… to Know somewhat in the Unknowing, you two won’t. Besides there’s a high chance I can withstand and explosion, you two are a lot more vulnerable,” Jon replies turning away for just a second, distantly he can hear circus music as he responds, “I’m not going to stay behind, just close enough to detonate it.”

“Be careful please Jon, we don’t want to lose you,” Sasha says, she’s closer now and her hand is warm on his arm as she smiles at him.

“Yeah boss, who’s going to yell at our organization skills otherwise,” Tim jokes, he’s standing on Jon’s other side now smiling down at him with a faint quirk of his lips.

“I will,” Jon promises glancing down at the boxes, “I can handle the rest, this will be enough to leave a mark and disrupt the ritual.”

“Are you sure Jon?” Sasha questions glancing dubiously at the C4 practically covering the building; they’ve been at it since early in the morning.

“It’ll be enough,” Jon promises and lets Sasha and Tim tuck him into a hug, he holds himself there in that moment, their breaths soft and mingling and their heartbeats drowning out the lingering music.

“Be safe please,” Sasha says quietly her hands tightening around Jon’s chest, her hands digging into his shirt.

He nods, his throat thick with emotion and leans his head on Tim’s shoulder, ignores the way Tim’s breath is rattling and the tears soaking into his hair.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to the entrance,” Jon says quietly loops his hands through Sasha’s and Tim’s and in silence they walk forward, misshapen wax figurines watch them, but they are silent and still.

Sunlight seeps in through the open doors and Jon breathes in the fresh air as Tim pauses in the doorway, one hand linked with Sasha’s as he looks into Jon’s eyes and says, “Make them pay Jon.”

“I will,” Jon promises and steps back, watches as the door clicks shut behind his assistants leaving Jon alone. He sucks in a quiet breath, can’t bring himself to turn away from the door even as the music begins to grow louder.

He can’t help but think of sitting with Martin quietly in his office, two mugs of tea on their desk, a promise to come back. Martin staring at Jon so much unsaid between them, hovering there, waiting, yet unsaid. Gerry curling around Jon in his apartment, so cold, as he runs his fingers gently through Jon’s hair.

Finally, Jon turns, the door to the theatre is open and Jon can hear the music spilling out in earnest now, the very air feels fuzzy and sharp, hot and cold, slow and fast as Jon walks forward. The Unknowing is beginning.

The doors swing open and reality becomes undone.

Lights swirl too bright, too much, surround Jon? Is that his name? It must be his name, it’s the one his mother gave him. Laughter bright creaky familiar laughter, a voice, “Welcome, welcome what do you think of our performance?”

Performance? Is that what he is?

Figures which are not human, misshapen and twisted, but they could have been once, dance across what could be a stage. What is a stage? They twirl so fast they threaten to fall, there is music, a cacophony. Where is he? Who is Jon?

The ground, ground? It shakes beneath his feet. Does he have feet? Of course, he does, that’s a silly question.

Is he meant to be dancing?

Is that why Jon? Is he Jon? Is here? To dance?

But no, Jon doesn’t like dancing. He’s only danced three times in his life, twice with Georgie in their kitchen, and once with Gerry when they were both drunk.

This is wrong.

The space around him shifts, undulates, and something wraps around his wrists tugs him forward, a voice, familiar, “Isn’t this wonderful Jon?”

“Who are you?” Jon demands, there is something in his hands and whatever has his hands is trying to pull it free. No.

“Why I’m Sasha, your friend,” The voice, the thing, says but it is not-Sasha, no that was not-Lisa, not-them, Sasha is… Sasha is safe.

“You’re not Sasha,” Jon stumbles back? Forward? The dancing is becoming frenzied around him, it is surrounding him, the music if growing louder. What is in his hands? It’s important isn’t it. Jon should Know this? Know. Yes, he should Know.

He _opens_ his eyes. 

A voice calls out suddenly, “Jon!”

It is not Nikola. He whips around and sees Tim near the entrance, Sasha hanging onto his arm, they’re staring, they’re lost, they are Unknown.

Nikola laughs calls out in his voice, “Tim and Sasha welcome!”

There is something in his hands. Jon glances down, glances at Tim and Sasha, they are… they will survive. He Knows this. They will not be the same, but they will live.

“Nikola,” Jon says, his voice is cut and warbled by that very air around him, he laughs like screaming and continues, “You need to wash your mouth out with soap.”

He pushes the button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I really shifted around some of Jon's interactions with the entities which were fun to write. The next chapter will hopefully be out soon. Comments are always super appreciated, till next time!


	5. Part the Fourth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! We are here with the second last chapter, the next chapter is more of an epilogue, so this is the last big chapter. Some of you predicted a few things but I hope I still surprise you. Read on and enjoy!

In the aftermath of the explosion, a few things happen.

The local firefighters arrive on the scene first, the House of Wax is located quite conveniently nearby, and is quickly followed by both the police and the paramedics. For a while, everyone watches as the blazing fire is doused with water, the paramedics wonder if there will be any survivors, they pray there won’t be, and the police officers loiter and glance at their surroundings as if an answer for the crime might suddenly substitute itself.

When the blaze has all but trickled down into weak spluttering flames, _things_ begin to crawl from the wreckage of the wax museum. They are misshapen things, just the slightest bit too wrong to be human, with skin melting like wax off their bones, and the scent of burning plastic filling the air.

Someone, perhaps the chief, perhaps just the only sectioned officer there that night calls the higher-ups and tells everyone to stay clear.

If there are survivors, if there are human survivors, they’ll have to wait a bit longer.

And they do wait. Those that survived.

They find Tim first, buried under an archway, hardly crushed by any of the rubble the lucky fellow. Well, the paramedic who’s attending him, Lucy, would hardly call him lucky, covered with third-degree burns practically everywhere as it is. Still, Tim is breathing, just barely, and he’s not conscious as they load him into the ambulance but if he was, through the pain he might have thought to mention Sasha and Jon.

As it is, they receive a tip from a former employee, one Basira Hussain, that there are two more potential survivors in the wreckage.

They find Jon a day later, slumped in the centre of the explosion with rubble surrounding him and his stomach attempting to reform around a piece of rebar. His heart and lungs have already regenerated and Jon has been awake the whole time.

The officer who finds him stares for a long moment before Jon sighs, it is a pained sigh accompanied by blood as he asks, “Can you pull this out please?”

The man stares for a long time as Jon’s hands grasp at the rebar slick with blood, there are new scars on his skin now, they trail up over his chest, curve over his cheeks, but don’t go any further, just far enough from his eyes.

With a shrug, he’s a sectioned officer, he pulls the rebar out with a grunt. Blood leaks from the hole in his stomach which weakly tries to seal over, Jon takes a statement from the officer and one from the paramedic on the way to the hospital before he finally falls unconscious.

They find Sasha’s body four days after the explosion.

The amount of C4 used to stop the Unknowing was by some means excessive, certainly not Gertrude’s means, but by all regular means yes. It created a deep crater in the street that no amount of cement of dirt will ever truly fix.

They find Sasha buried in the deepest part of this crater, underneath broken drywall, torn floorboard, cement, dirt, the kind of weight that would crush a human. She is still, curled on her side as if in sleep, like those in Pompei were, and she does not breathe when a paramedic checks her pulse.

At some point, it should be known, during the explosion, Tim, who had covered Sasha’s body with his own, is torn apart. They will not be the same again.

Sasha’s body is pulled out of the wreckage there is dirt clumped in her hair, dust covering her skin, and when they place her on the boiling tarmac in the sunlight, she jerks awake, alive, and coughs out piles of dirt.

She keeps coughing up dirt all the way to the hospital, it’s a horrible chest-deep sounding cough, like an old smoker, the sound of something in her lungs. She’s checked into the same ward as Tim and when offered a shower she stands under the hot water for a long time and not a drop of dust, which slicks like mud against her skin, goes down the drain.

And so, things and time pass.

Consciousness returns to Jon slowly, in short, little sporadic bursts of sensation. The sound of a hospital monitor beeping distantly, a steady sort of rhythm. Voices, some familiar, some very strange. One tells Jon a story, it is a familiar voice, he knows this person, doesn’t he? The feeling of hospital sheets, always washed with a generic sort of detergent, rough against his skin. The prickle-itch of new scars covering his body, the Eye which watches him as he watches the statements.

Jon glances into the Eye, which watches, and sees, and knows all. It blinks down at him; pleased.

He jerks awake.

His breathing is erratic, there is a hospital monitor shrilly telling his heart to calm down. His mouth is dry. That is the first thing, Jon… he is Jon, right? Yes. The first thing Jon notices is how dry his mouth is. He is in a hospital, the sheets rough against his skin and the room just generic enough as to pass for something out of a catalogue.

Jon scrubs a hand over his face, there is no residual pain that accompanies the motion, just the itch of new scars that he has become all too familiar with. He pulls back his hand and glances at it in the faint sunlight peeking in through the windows.

Scars wrap around his arm trailing over his fingers, they are twisty things, almost purple against his dark skin, and as Jon stares at them he feels a headache beginning to pulse at the back of his mind. Tearing his gaze away, Jon sucks in a ragged breath and tries to remember, tries to know.

The Eye shows him.

The Unknowing, Nikola, Tim and Sasha, an explosion, then nothing.

Or well a nothingness of sorts. The Eye watching as he watches, his body regenerating from the brink of death, pain so much pain, and now the hospital.

Jon exhales slowly, he scrubs a hand over his face and glances at his surroundings, there are flowers on the bedside table, the sort of corporate cheap ones that are no doubt from Elias if the card is any indication. Tucked behind the cheap monstrosities is a smaller bouquet, yellows and soft whites from Martin.

Sasha and Tim… Oh, Gods, they were there, they were caught in the explosion.

Jon Knows they’re alive, can feel it like a string wrapped around his pinkie.

Being alive is very different from being what you were before.

There is a knock on the door to his room. Before he can respond, or attempt to muster up one, the door to his room swings open and Sasha walks inside. She is different, visibly different, there is dust coating her skin like a second layer, it shines almost in the sunlight, her hair is caked with dirt, and her eyes are the darkness of fresh mud.

“Sasha,” Jon says her name quietly, brokenly, it’s torn from his lips bloody and raw left there hanging between them.

She pauses, her hand still on the doorknob and turns to face him fully, a smile quirks the corner of her lips, it is Sasha’s smile, because this is Sasha. This is not the Helen who once was and now is the Distortion. This is Sasha and yet not.

“Jon you’re awake,” She says with a relieved sort of smile as she settles into the cheap plastic chair at his bedside, a sprinkling of dirt settles on the floor and the walls of Jon’s room suddenly seem to press in around him as he stares at her with wide eyes.

For one long, long moment, all Jon can feel is the rubble crushing his body, burying him, suffocating him, choking him. Or the walls of the train compartment pressing in around him, threatening to bury him deep underground.

Sasha’s hand is warm where it wraps gently around his wrist, right over his pressure point, warm and just this side of too tight. Jon glances up startled and catches sight of her expression, innumerably sad as she says, “I-I’m sorry Jon, I know this probably isn’t what you would have wanted. I don’t think I ever really had a choice though.”

“We always have a choice,” Jon laughs, bitter and sad as he continues, “Sometimes just a choice between bad and worst, I choose to be the Archivist. I- I can’t say this is what I wanted Sasha… but I- are you happy?”

Sasha’s lips purse as she responds, “Like you had a choice?” he flinches and she sighs, pats his hand and continues, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that Jon, we don’t get to choose our parents. I think I’m happy? It’s hard to tell, I feel safe, swaddled like nothing can hurt me anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon apologises, he closes his eyes for a moment and squeezes tightly around Sasha’s fingers. Her other hand comes to rest gently on his cheek, her fingers soft with dust as they trace over a swirling scar until he blinks his eyes open.

“I- we shouldn’t have gone back into the building, it’s not your fault Jon,” Sasha says softly, her smile is warm and achingly familiar in the little creases at the corners of her eyes.

“I shouldn’t have involved you both, I shouldn’t have risked your lives, your safety when it wasn’t necessary,” Jon says, the words tripping off his tongue laden with guilt; he swore he wasn’t going to be another Gertrude. Look how successful he’s been at that.

“Jon, we both wanted to stop it, I think it was cathartic for Tim,” Sasha says her words kind but her eyes agree with him.

“Tim?” Jon says his name carefully, shaping it so that it doesn’t sound too hopeful, better than to save himself from the inevitable disappointment.

“He’s alive,” Sasha replies rubbing her thumb over his cheek before she pulls back settling her hands in her lap, “He’s… he has third-degree burns covering most of his body. He’s been in a coma since they brought him in.”

Jon deflates, his heart squeezing weakly inside his chest as covers his eyes for a moment with the palm of his eyes.

“Martin?”

“He’s okay, been visiting you every day, think Gerry’s been here too however that works,” Sasha says with a wink that Jon firmly ignores.

“How long have I…?” Jon questions staring at his hands, where Sasha touched him there is a thin layer of dirt, and when he glances at the floor, yet more dirt is accumulating.

“Roughly a week or so. I got discharged a few days ago, I think they wanted to keep me under observation but Elias pulled a few strings. I… I’m not tied to the Archives anymore, I think I’m still connected to the Eye, I could still Know stuff if I wanted. But I’ve been trying to figure myself out for the most part.”

“I… do you want to talk about it?” Jon questions very carefully, he keeps the static out of his voice as best as possible.

Sasha studies him for a long moment disturbed only by the distant beeping of a monitor before she shrugs, “Sure, you probably need some feeding anyway,” he opens his mouth and she just tilts her head with a laugh, “Alright consider it a statement. Statement of Sasha James regarding the Buried.

“I’ve always liked being in small enclosed spaces, or at least its been that way for a long time. I remember being a kid and sleeping in my closet and my mom finding me. One of my earliest memories is running from some kids and hiding in this hole in the ground, it protected me. It was cool and dark and so quiet. Like nothing mattered.

“When I started exploring the tunnels under the Archives, I thought it was just my curiosity you know? We’re alike that way. I thought it might have been the Spiral as well, it’s hard to map things down there, though in hindsight that was Leitner. I talked to him the other day, he’s just this sad man. Anyways, so I kept exploring, I liked it down there, knowing no one could watch me, could see me. The walls pressing around me and above me were… comforting. I could have stopped exploring you know? I guess I did make that choice cause I kept doing it, I would spend hours down there, after you were kidnapped by the circus as if it might give me an answer or a way to help you.

“When the explosion happened, Tim covered me, I felt the moment he was ripped from my arms… then I was- I was buried beneath the rubble. I knew I wouldn’t be able to crawl out, I could feel how much of me was just- broken. I was scared for the first day buried beneath the rubble, I cried, I screamed, I begged for someone, anyone to come and save me. There was no water, no food, I was so parched. I kept thinking, this is a dream, this will all be over soon. But it wasn’t.

“The second day I just accepted it you know? I accepted I was going to die. That I wasn’t going to see any of you again if you were all even alive. I was going to die buried beneath the earth and no one would find me for years until I became just another fossil. It comforted me for some reason. The third day, I could feel death approaching, it was like this shiver up my spine, this crawling sensation. I tried to ignore it, I focused on the rubble surrounding me, I felt as if I had become a part of it, I hadn’t moved in days.

“I think I died. No, I Know I died. But I was happy with it? I was happy to at least die buried in that choking stale air. It was comforting. And then I woke up coughing dirt as they pulled me from the rubble. I almost asked them to put me back. But now here I am, the walls press in on me when I get scared or happy, the dirt doesn’t go away and I don’t want it to.”

When Sasha is finished, a tape recorder clicks off in the background leaving only a silence of sorts. Jon sags back into the stiff hospital pillows with a long exhale. The Eye thrums through his head, sated, and Jon can feel it humming through his body.

“So, what now?” Sasha questions crossing her arms over her chest.

“I-I don’t know,” Jon replies shakily before he tilts his head, “We need to deal with Elias. But I- perhaps we can take a few days to sort ourselves out.”

“I didn’t mean immediately Jon,” Sasha teases with a fond smile before her eyes dim, “Would you like to see Tim?”

Jon nods once and Sasha rises to her feet helps Jon push back the starchy sheets. Jon leans heavily on Sasha, who is far more solid than he remembers, as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. The movement is accompanied by a wave of dizziness before Jon inhales and plants his feet on the ground, the tile is cold and he hisses.

Sasha laughs and Jon glares at her even as he rises to his feet. His knees give out almost instantly and Jon’s stomach drops but Sasha has him and she holds him up until his legs are willing to do their job.

“Okay?” She asks gently and Jon nods, takes a few steps on his own until it feels right.

Sasha loops her arm through his and pushes the door to his room open. The hallways seem too small, they loom over Jon as they walk through the hospital, the eyes of those that pass by simply slide off of them.

“That’s new,” Sasha comments as one doctor walks around them, eyes staring sightlessly ahead.

“Is it?” Jon asks with a raised brow and all the hint of a smile he can muster. Sasha just laughs until they pause in front of another door, she glances once at Jon in question, he nods once and she pushes open the door.

Tim is lying on the bed in the centre of the room, wrapped in so many bandages it's hard to tell that its Tim.

Jon stares for a long moment at Tim the Eye happily supplying information that Jon doesn’t want or need to know about burns. Sasha gives him a little nudge and Jon stumbles forward until he can collapse in one of the cheap plastic chairs at Tim’s bedside.

He reaches out, one hand hovering over Tim’s bandaged one before Jon gently tangles their fingers together and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Tim opens his eyes.

For a long second, there is silence, Sasha stares with wide eyes from the doorway while Tim blinks, his eyes slowly sweeping across the room before they land on Jon and he lets out a groggy, “Hey boss.”

“Tim,” Jon says his name carefully even as he reaches over and carefully tilts a cup of water to his lips. Tim drinks the water slowly, his eyes tracking Sasha as she settles in the other plastic armchair one hand reaching out to settle on his arm.

“How are you feeling?” Sasha questions gently, Tim’s eyes hazy with pain stare at her for a long moment, tracking the same differences Jon did.

“I- there’s a lot of pain,” Tim finally says as Jon sets the water down, he continues, “What happened? I-I remember going back into the House of Wax, seeing you,” he tips his head at Jon, “And then pain.”

Jon opens his mouth glancing at Sasha but she beats him to it with a sad smile as she responds, “The C4 detonated. You covered me, protected me from the worst of the explosion. They found you first, then Jon, he’s been in a coma as well, they found me last,” Sasha pauses biting her lip she glances away from Tim before continuing, “You’ve been asleep for a week.”

“That would explain the pain,” Tim jokes weakly still staring at Sasha as in a whisper he continues, “What happened to you?”

“I… I guess I’m an avatar now. Do you need to guess which one?” Sasha responds her hands splayed out in front of her, dirt trickles from between her fingers and the walls creak and groan around them.

“Sasha,” Tim says her name so tenderly, his face open and raw and Jon feels as if he’s intruding, he should leave them alone. Tim shifts and lets out a pained sound low in his throat as he reaches out and threads his fingers through Sasha’s, “You’re still Sasha.”

“Yeah, just a bit different,” Sasha responds her voice choked with emotion and a tiny smile curling the corners of her lips as her hand tightens around Tim’s.

“Am I… different? Becoming?” Tim questions carefully, shaping the words slowly and studying his own bandaged body.

“It’s a possibility,” Jon says carefully before he continues, “But it’s not a certainty. You could become, but you could also stay human. You’ve been touched by the Desolation, but you’ve also been touched by the Stranger.”

“Great, so I just have to not burn anything,” Tim says with a roll of his eyes earning a soft chuckle from Sasha.

“No destroying for Tim,” Sasha adds with a tiny grin that can’t quite hide how brittle they all are. Tim nods, his lips pressed into a thin line in the silence that falls swiftly over the three of them.

Tim’s eyes flicker to Jon and he can’t stop the words trickling from his lips, “I’m so sorry Tim.”

“We made a choice to come, boss,” Tim says quietly, he curls his hand around Jon’s, and continues, “I was the idiot who dragged Sasha back inside.”

“We all made mistakes,” Sasha says gently her gaze warm as it swings between Jon and Tim.

Tim nods his eyes studying Jon for a long moment before he asks, “What about you boss? Anything to report?”

“I-no,” Jon replies, what is he supposed to say, he felt his organs healing over and over again? That the Eye hums sated and content having witnessed through Jon?

Tim’s lips pinch but he doesn’t push just gently squeezes Jon’s hand again and asks, “Any way we can sneak some pudding cups?”

The brick alleyway is familiar, almost comforting against Jon’s back as he sucks in a breath of ragged air, in a minute he’ll enter the Archives, he’ll go back to work, he’ll be the Archivist again. But for just a moment he can rest, he can stop, and just be.

“I thought you quit?” Gerry says casually, his arms crossed over his chest where he leans against the brickwork beside Jon, a cigarette of his own trailing ghostly smoke into the pale morning air as he adds, “Or is this one of those special situations? Speaking of which, should you really be out of the hospital? You woke up literally yesterday.”

Jon stares at Gerry as he rants, sees the concern hiding beneath it all, the way his eyes won’t stop drinking Jon in, scars and all. He smiles bitterly and takes another puff of his cigarette as he replies, “It’s not like it’ll kill me. And, I’m physically fine, trauma wise not so much but at this point that’s normal.”

“Jon,” Gerry says his name softly, like how he used to whisper it when it was just the two of them curled together side by side. Jon reaches out, drags his fingers over the too cold skin of Gerry’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” He says, an apology for too many things to name between them.

“I know,” Gerry says, rubbing his thumb gently over the scars near his eyes.

There is the sound of footsteps from the mouth of the alley. Jon freezes and pulls back from Gerry, he takes another drag of his cigarette, feels the smoke fill his lungs, and turns around.

There is a man at the entrance to the alleyway, dark skin, in a jacket, he studies Jon with dark eyes before he says casually, “Your hunter said you wanted to speak to me?”

“She’s not my hunter,” Jon protests with a shake of his head and then, “I’m surprised she asked nicely.”

“Sure,” The man shrugs dismissive, his eyes bounce from Jon to Gerry and he says, “I suppose that’s what you wanted to speak to me about then?”

“Of a sort,” Jon replies glancing at Gerry for a long moment before he stretches out his hand and says, “Jonathan Sims, Archivist.”

“Oliver Banks,” Jon’s eyes widen and he laughs, “So, you recognise me then? It’s funny I can’t see any of the roots wrapped around you. But I can’t help you with a ghost, s’not really my domain, I’m more…” he waves his hand, “Predicting death.”

Jon glances at Gerry for a moment bites down the emotions that the name Oliver Banks has stirred up. Thinks of the statement foretelling his mother’s death, God if she had just listened to him.

It’s Gerry who replies, “It’s not really a haunting scenario, more of a Becoming we suspect.”

Oliver tilts his head and takes a step closer, his skin goes grey, and it seems as if all the blood has drained from his skin, Jon Knows he isn’t imagining the dark twisting roots which wrap around his skin.

“You’re certainly on that path, the End has touched you quite deeply. Strange that you Become after your death I was in the process before mine,” Oliver’s eyes flick to Jon and his lips quirk into the barest hint of a smile, “I’ll suppose you’ll be wanting my statement Archivist? A bit of a change to the normal nightmares.”

Gerry tilts his head, crosses his arms in front of his chest with one brow raised as he asks, “So, what, I just hang about until I Become?”

Oliver tilts his head, “Hmm, no. Your Archivist Knows, to Become there is always a death involved, or at least almost always,” His eyes flick to Jon, not quite Knowing, but the knowledge that Jon is different before he continues, “I don’t know how to kill someone that’s already dead. I suppose you’d have to make it a choice somehow. Maybe you’ll just be stuck as a ghost, maybe you’ll become corporeal. Hard to say. Or maybe you’ll have to kill someone,” Oliver finishes with a shrug, he leans back against the brick wall his eyes on Jon as he asks, “You want that statement?”

“I-Yes,” Jon says quietly as a tape recorder clicks on, the tape spooling softly, “Statement of Oliver Banks regarding his death…”

Oliver’s voice is nice, quiet, his tale is gruesome enough, and yet at the same time sympathetic, Jon can see himself in Oliver. Gerry listens with his arms crossed over his chest a pensive almost disapproving expression on his sharp features.

When Oliver is done, he smiles, accepts Jon’s offer of a cigarette and says, “That was nice almost. I’d be careful if I were you, Archivist,” Oliver tilts his head considering Jon, “You’ve been marked by the End now if it can’t claim you it might go after others.”

“Thanks,” Jon says honestly before he tilts his head choking Elias’ sight he asks, “Any advice on dealing with an avatar of the Eye?”

“Make sure you understand what you’re getting into,” Oliver replies, his dark eyes stare into Jon’s eyes before he nods once and says, “Goodbye Archivist, I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

Then he is gone.

Gerry leans back against the brick wall and takes a long drag of his cigarette, wisps of curling smoke spilling from his lips as he says, “I think we need to destroy my page.”

“What? Gerry- we can’t… what if? You could die, permanently,” Jon says pushing off the brick wall to stare into Gerry’s eyes, his heart straining in his chest as if still trying to put itself together again.

“I could die Jon? Newsflash I’m already dead. Or I could live, I could become, I could help you, be there for you. If that means… if that means that I might die permanently then it’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

“I’ve already mourned you once,” Jon says, the words fall from his lips and he turns away, unable to let Gerry see the emotions spilling through him.

Gerry’s hand settles cold on his cheek and Jon’s eyes flick open, he’s not sure when he closed them, to stare into Gerry’s dark eyes, “You survived, and you’ll survive if it happens again. Besides you have Martin now.”

Jon frowns, taking a step back as he replies, “I like Martin, I could love him, but he’s not you. Gerry… I- you know how I feel about you. I don’t want to replace you with Martin. You’re different people, he’s not some substitute! If I… even if he wanted to. I- wouldn’t drop you for him, I- you said it was fine.”

“Jon, love calm down, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that,” Gerry says gently, one cold hand stroking through his hair and tucking him against Gerry’s chest before he continues, “I know you’re not replacing me. I- I just meant that you wouldn’t be alone again. I… I like Martin, he’s… he’s so nice I could… in another life I could have. I need to do this Jon.”

“I-okay,” Jon says leaning into Gerry’s chest for a long moment before he pulls away and tips his head against the wall behind him.

There is the sound of footsteps and then a voice, “Jon, Gerry?”

“Martin,” Jon turns and the next second Martin’s arms wrap around Jon and tuck him into a hug. It’s warm, the faint scent of tea and sage, it’s comforting and Jon melts into the embrace for a long time.

“Jon,” Martin says his name softly as he pulls back, one hand reaches up to trace carefully over the scars on his face. Martin smiles, a smile that brightens his eyes and feels like _home_ , “You’re awake.”

“I’m sorry Martin,” Jon speaks into the soft fabric of Martin’s jumper, his hands clenching around the material.

“I’m just happy you’re all okay,” Martin replies, rubbing one hand in a soothing motion up and down Jon’s back as he adds, “Or at least as okay as possible. I’m just thankful you came back.”

“I…” Jon trails off unsure what to say as he pulls back to stare in Martin’s eyes. One of his hand’s rests on the soft skin of Martin’s cheek and Jon can’t help the sappy smile that slips across his lips as he leans his head forward against Martin’s, “I’m happy to be back.”

“Jon,” Martin stares into his eyes, lets himself be Known so utterly, gives himself over to the Eye, to Jon without fear, without hesitation.

He let’s Martin Know him in kind as he replies, “Martin,” he leans forward slowly and Martin’s eyes widen but he doesn’t push Jon away, just pulls him closer. He grounds Jon in the scent of tea as they kiss in an alleyway.

“I thought I would never see you again,” Martin murmurs into his mouth, his body shuddering with quiet sobs.

“I came back,” Jon whispers back through the tears.

Martin pulls back with a soft sound a few seconds later, one of his hands stroking gently through Jon’s hair before his eyes widen and he says, “Oh God Gerry.”

“He’s fine with it,” Jon says quietly, resists the urge to glance over his shoulder at where Gerry was.

“I still- I should still talk to him,” Martin says shifting on his feet but not letting go of Jon.

“Okay,” Jon says with a smile and then, “Do you want to do dinner tonight?”

Martin’s mouth gapes open like a fish before he shakes his head the expression sliding into a smile as he loops his hand carefully with Jon’s and replies, “Yeah, I’d like that Jon, I’d really like that.”

“Good.”

“Elias, you wanted to see me?” Jon asks as pleasantly as he can manage after having been ripped away from the Archives. Could he possibly have a few minutes of peace alone in his domain? Is that too much to ask for? Apparently, so.

The office looms around Jon, too big, it makes him feel almost small as he stares at Elias. His eyes glint at Jon accompanied by a pleased smile as the man responds, “Yes, Jon come in sit down. I must say I’m very impressed with your performance during the Unknowing.”

Jon accepts the praise with a nod and settles in the chair across from Elias. The very air is filled with the dull hum of static as the Eye watches and observes it’s two avatars, which one does it favour? Who can say?

Elias continues on unperturbed, “You did very well, and it’s yielded some very interesting _results_. Tell me how are Tim and Sasha?”

He asks as if hasn’t already _seen_ the answer for himself. Jon grimaces tries to focus on his breathing, just looking at the man who killed his mother, who is trying to manipulate Jon, incites a fury that he can’t yet sate.

“Sasha has Become an avatar of the Buried as I’m sure you’re well aware of already,” Jon replies carefully steepling his hands in front of him as he continues, “Tim has the potential to Become an avatar of the Desolation, though whether that will happen is uncertain.”

“I see,” Elias replies stroking one hand over his jaw before he smiles beatifically and continues, “You’re aware that Sasha is no longer tied to the Institute. I suggest you find another assistant.”

“I’ll need to speak to Sasha first, she is still more than welcome to the position if she wants it,” Jon replies and his words crackle off his tongue daring Elias to tell him what to do. He watches as Elias’ face screws up slightly in displeasure and he continues, “In any case, the Archives can manage well enough with two assistants.”

“If you’re certain Jon,” Elias says pleasantly, the corners of his smile twitch.

“I am,” Jon replies tilting his head so that he can stare into the eyes that once belonged to Jonah Magnus as he continues, “Is there anything else I can help you with Elias? If you don’t mind, I’d like to get settled.”

“Not at all Jon. Though I should mention it while you’re here, some of our sponsors will be visiting the Institute, routine checks. They were quite impressed with your performance when I mentioned it and I suspect they might want to meet you,” Elias replies, there is a smug expression to his features as if he has already seen the whole chessboard and already made the winning move; perhaps he has but Jon won’t go down easily.

“The Lukas’ and the Fairchilds’ no doubt?” Jon inquires carefully, the Lonely and the Vast. Two entities he hasn’t been marked by… there it is again, a flash of Knowing so strong it’s like whiplash like the Eye can’t decide whether it wants him to Know or not.

If a ritual won’t work on its own there must be some way to make it work. There must be a way because whatever it is Jonah Magnus thinks he has found it. What made his ritual different, it was almost successful? What about the Panopticon was different?

“Of course, you would do well not to anger them, Jon, it would be a shame if anything were to happen to your assistants,” Elias threatens with a smile that is all teeth, as an alligator lies in wait in the swamp so too does Elias.

“Just as it would be a shame if they were to intrude on my domain,” Jon replies as static fills the air he continues, “Tell our ‘donors’ they would perhaps be wiser to stay away from the Archives. There hasn’t been a lot of statement givers lately after all.”

“Jon,” Elias warns rising to his feet to loom over Jon; as if everyone doesn’t already loom over him.

“Elias,” He replies with a pleasant smile and rises to his feet, staring into Jonah Magnus’ eyes.

“I’ll pass along your message. Careful Jon, the Eye watches, it does not act,” Elias replies as Jon turns and makes his way to the door.

He pauses his hand on the doorknob and replies, “We are of the Eye but we are also capable of action.”

Before Elias can respond Jon steps out of his office and shuts the door behind him with a click. He nods to Rosie with a pleasant smile and exhales as he walks away from Elias’ office, he can feel him watching him, his eyes pressing into Jon’s spine.

“Jon?” A voice questions and he pauses, tearing himself from his thoughts and turns to face Basira. She looks well, better than when she was working with the force, and she has a few books tucked under his arm.

“Hello Basira,” Jon greets, pausing so she can take the last few steps forward.

“I- you were in a coma?” Basira questions shifting the books under her arms as she follows Jon down the stairs towards the Archives.

“I woke up yesterday,” Jon replies as they pass artefact storage, he pauses for just a second his steps slowing as he glances through the darkened door before he continues, “I’m fine or at least mostly fine.”

“No offence you don’t look fine,” Basira replies gesturing with one hand at his scars. He ignores the prickle of self-consciousness and unease the comment brings and shrugs with a self-deprecating expression.

“What brings you here Basira?” Jon questions kindly as he pushes the door open to his Archives. As they step over the threshold, he can feel some of the tension bleeding away from his shoulders, the scent of old paper and dust fills the air.

“Just more research,” Basira replies lifting her books to show him the covers before she continues, “I’ve been searching for answers, not really sure what I want to do once I find them. I’ve been helping Martin a bit as well.”

“You haven’t signed a contract, right?” Jon questions carefully, he tries to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Basira shakes her head with a hum as Martin exits the break room, he catches Jon’s eyes and blushes as Basira responds, “No. Your creepy boss has been pushing it though, keeps calling me Detective. I’ve been considering it though; I mean I really have no plans currently. What am I going to get into security? Work at the local Tesco’s?”

Jon pauses staring at Basira for a long moment, the Eye is wrapped around her, practically already claimed her for its own.

“If that’s what you want, as long as you understand the risks Basira. You could always apply to the library or the research department, but if you apply here I-I can’t guarantee your safety,” Jon replies carefully keeping eye contact with Basira.

“I’ll think about it, Jon,” Basira replies with a nod shifting her books under her arms as she adds in afterthought, “I suppose the show in a few weeks is still happening now?”

Jon blanks for a moment before he blanches and says quietly, “I should… I should really call Georgie and everyone.”

Basira smiles and shakes her head, “Probably yeah. I’m going to head out, I’ll see you around Jon. Keep an eye out for Daisy, she’ll probably pop in now that you’re awake.”

“Thanks, Basira,” Jon says and then in afterthought, “Please take some time to think on it, stay away from the Institute for a few days before you make your decision.”

She nods tips her head and turns to exit the Archives. Jon watches her go for a long moment one hand slipping into his jeans to rub against his phone as Martin appears with a mug and asks, “Tea?”

“Please.”

Jon carefully takes the skin book out of his desk, the leather is worn, familiar beneath his hands as he sets it carefully in front of him. The room is still, silent, but for the faint ticking of a clock. Then the temperature drops and Jon glances up to see Gerry lounging casually in the other chair.

His eyes are centred on the book with a pinched expression and Jon can’t help but ask quietly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Gerry says equally hushed, one of his hands reaches out across the table, it brushes across Jon’s hand as cold as ice, “This isn’t living.”

“Okay,” Jon says, the word is heavy on his lips as he pulls out a lighter from his pocket.

“That’s different from your normal one,” Gerry says carefully, it’s the cheap zippo type in a bright red with little flames stuck to the sides.

“Tim leant it to me, thought it was better than the Web,” Jon replies and flicks it once just to make sure it works. There’s a hiss and then the flame bursts into the air, soft yellows melding into orange until Jon moves his fingers.

For a long moment there’s a pause, Jon stares at Gerry, absorbs all of him, tries to imprint him onto his mind even Knowing that the human mind is fallible. This could be the last time Jon sees him, hears his voice; they were always living on borrowed time.

“Can I do it?” Gerry asks tentatively, his eyes flicker from Jon’s face and glue themselves to the skin book.

“Are- can you?” Jon questions carefully, he resists that part of him that wants to hide the book away, that never wants to let Gerry go.

Gerry’s brow furrows as he reaches out and lifts the lighter. The first try the plastic falls through his hands and onto the floor, on the second try he’s able to hold it and he nods once before placing it down again.

Jon inhales and carefully rips Gerry’s paper out of the book. He lets out a pained grunt, and Jon glances up his heart lurching inside his chest even as he hands the sheet over to Gerry.

“I-,” Gerry begins pausing for a moment to glance from the sheet to Jon before he inhales and continues, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jon replies, he swallows down the words that threaten to bubble up and out, the demands, the pleading, the begging; Gerry would listen but it’s not Jon’s choice, it’s Gerry’s.

Jon passes the lighter into Gerry’s hands, they are cold where they brush against Jon’s skin as he takes the lighter. His eyes dart up to Jon and for just one second, he catches a glimpse of fear before it is lost behind steely resolve.

The lighter flicks on and Jon musters up a smile, he ignores the way his eyes are burning as Gerry with a last glance touches the flame to the page. It catches quickly, the flames consuming Gerry’s last moments, swallowing them up.

Jon blinks in between one second and the next and Gerry is gone.

A sob almost breaks through but he muffles it behind his hand as he glances at the desk, there are ashes, a scorch mark, and Gerry is gone. Jon inhales raggedly and wipes away the tears, tries to catch his breath.

The office is still cold, though not the kind of cold Gerry always brought with him and he can’t help the way his heart stills in his chest, “Gerry?”

Silence.

Jon inhales raggedly, the scent of burning fills the air.

He tries to tell himself that it doesn’t mean Gerry is gone. That he can’t possibly expect Gerry to manifest, to Become immediately. He can’t stop the way his heart sinks in his chest regardless.

There’s a knock on the door and Martin pushes it open a second later, he sniffs the air his brow crinkling as he asks, “Is everything alright Jon?” his eyes dart to the ashes on his desk and his face screws up in realisation, “Oh Jon.”

Martin steps into his office shutting the door behind him, he rounds Jon’s desk, and before he realises what’s happening Martin sweeps him up into a hug. Jon makes a wounded noise deep in his throat and wraps his arms around Martin, sinks into his warmth and the comforting smell of honeyed tea and sage.

They stay like that for a few moments, Jon grounds himself in the sound of their breathing. It doesn’t erase what happened, it doesn’t bring Gerry back, but it’s enough for Jon to keep moving.

Martin pulls away a few seconds later, one hand brushing carefully through Jon’s hair before his face brightens and says, “Rosie says there’s someone to see you, not a statement giver. They’re up in the foyer.”

“I- okay,” Jon says with a shake of his head, he’s curious as to who it could be, who would want to see Jon in particular if it’s not a statement giver.

Martin smiles and presses a chaste kiss to Jon’s cheek, immediately followed by a brilliant blush, before he pulls back and says, “I’ll set the kettle on?”

“That would be nice,” Jon replies pressing a kiss to Martin’s cheek just to see his blush deepen. There’s still an aching in his chest that might never go away but he can mourn later, he can sit in his flat with the remnants of them surrounding him, later.

Martin shakes his head and exits his office; Jon follows slowly behind and nods to Tim who is lazily spinning in his chair studying the ceilings of the Archives. He can’t help but ask, “Heard anything from Sasha?”

Tim tilts his head to study Jon for a moment before he shrugs, “Think she might come by later, at least to go down into the tunnels again.”

That will have to be enough. Jon nods and with a wave over his shoulder, he exits the Archives. Stepping out of his domain always makes him feel vulnerable as if all his layers have been stripped away like if someone pushes hard enough, they’ll Know. He can feel Elias’ gaze settling on his shoulders pressing in too close for comfort as if trying to choke him.

He steps into the elevator, he’s too drained to take the stairs today and presses the button with a sigh. The elevator is old rusty, it also makes a faint clicking noise as it rises and Jon’s hated it ever since he started working at the Institute. It stops on the floor below the foyer, a service floor from what Jon recalls of the building plans.

The door creaks open revealing an elderly man with a shock of wild white hair and a lined face, he smiles and asks, “Room for one more?”

Jon should say no, he can already feel his stomach swooping as he steps aside, he Knows this is Simon Fairchild who has appeared in more than a few of the statements. But Elias’ words trip into Jon’s mind and he forces a smile onto his lips.

This is a horrible idea.

Simon steps into the elevator with a smile, he whistles cheerily as the doors begin to grind close. Once they are shut, he turns to Jon and extends his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet Elias’ Archivist.”

“I’m not Elias’,” Jon replies carefully, he glances at the elevator buttons but if possible, the thing is moving even more slowly than usual.

“Of course not,” Simon says in an agreeable tone that is not at all in agreement before he continues, “I must say, I was quite impressed when Elias told me how you handled the Unknowing. Very similar to how the previous Archivist would have handled it.”

“Thank you,” Jon replies pleasantly feeling as if he is with his mother receiving something from a distant relative, “Gertrude was a very determined Archivist. I hope I can live up to her example.”

“Do you now?” Simon muses turning to face Jon, his eyes are the blue of the sky stretching on and on forever, “Better to be your own person, I think. After all, Elias has great plans for you.”

Jon opens his mouth.

“Ah, I wouldn’t try that if I were you, Archivist, hard to ask questions when you can’t catch your breath,” Simon replies cheerily, the elevator grinds to a halt, it is not on the first floor, the doors do not open.

“Only if you need to breathe,” Jon replies nonchalantly, static crackles through the air but he reigns it in, pushes it down.

Simon smiles, tilts his head and studies Jon with narrow eyes, “I suppose so Archivist. I’m afraid Elias requested this of me, and well, I always keep my promises.”

The elevator lurches and begins to fall, all the air flees his lungs, he is falling, and the ground when it catches up to him will kill him. Jon blinks tears out of his eyes and can’t escape the sensation of falling.

Letting the air escape his lungs Jon ignores his hair whipping around his head and Knows that he is not falling.

“Why did Elias ask you to do this to me?” Jon demands static crackling off his tongue, the words slip from between his teeth, caught in the vortex of wind and air, but they cut through it nonetheless. The sky cannot block out the Eye, not this sky.

Simon frowns, the sensation of falling increases as he replies, “Now you wouldn’t wish for me to pull our funds, would you?”

“ _Tell me why,_ ” Jon demands, feels the eyes beneath his skin bursting open, staring at Simon, compelling the words from him.

“For his ritual, of course, needs the Archivist properly marked up,” Simon says his voice ragged as it slips from his lips, his eyes are filled with an intense hatred and Jon can feel gravity threatening to crush him.

“ _You do not Know what we spoke about,”_ Jon commands and watches as Simon’s expression clears, it becomes fuzzy with confusion before Simon nods almost to himself. People almost always make assumptions rather than choose to question it.

“I should be going now Archivist, have a nice fall,” Simon says pleasantly, his eyes study Jon warily for a reason he does not know. The doors to the elevator grind open revealing only consuming darkness.

Simon tilts his head and steps out into the darkness.

The elevator grinds to a halt. Jon collapses to the grounds, his ribs violently protesting the fall as Jon rises shakily to his feet and sucks in a deep breath. The doors to the elevator chime open onto the first floor and Jon sighs and scrubs a hand over his face before stepping out.

His eyes glance up of their own accord and find Elias watching him, his eyes narrowed, no doubt furious that he couldn’t see Jon’s interaction with Simon. No matter Jon is marked by the Vast and that’s all that matters, at least to Elias.

Glancing away, a bitter taste at the back of his throat, his eyes sweep around the foyer until they find Georgie. She glances up as if sensing his gaze and Jon swallows and walks forward, “Melanie, Georgie.”

“Jon,” Georgie says his name, just a touch of fury as she wraps her arms around him and continues, “I was so worried you idiot.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon apologies, he’s been doing a lot of that lately. Georgie huffs and shakes her head; she pulls back one hand tracing over the scars on his face.

“What have you gotten yourself into Jon?” Georgie whispers, not really looking for an answer.

Jon hums with a sad smile and turns to Melanie, “How are you feeling?”

“Less murder-y,” Melanie replies with a shrug, she’s studying Jon with an expression he can’t quite parse, maybe pity, maybe relief that she never got involved.

“That’s good,” Jon says with a tiny smile and then he continues, “Why don’t you come down to the Archives, you can meet my assistants?”

Melanie and Georgie trade a glance before she smiles, “Alright Jon, lead us to your evil lair.”

Jon rolls his eyes with a grin and says, “Hope you don’t mind taking the stairs?”

Georgie studies Jon for a long moment, maybe she notices the way his hands are shaking, how he’s still carefully regulating his breathing, “We don’t mind, I could probably use the workout.”

Jon just nods with a faint smile; he ignores the pleased smile Elias is no doubt sporting as he leads them down the stairs and to the Archives. He’s fine, he just has to keep reminding himself of that and it might be true.

  
“Sims,” Daisy says with a grunt as she stomps into his office, her shoes, metal-toed, thunk into the ground as she sprawls in the chair across from him. Her eyes are dark where they study Jon, “Heard you were in a coma.”

“A short one,” Jon replies with a shrug.

Daisy huffs a short burst of laughter before she asks, “Got anything for me to Hunt?”

“Nothing pressing,” Jon replies carefully thinking over the statements he’s read, “Thank you by the way for finding Oliver.”

“Wasn’t hard,” Daisy grunts crossing her arms over her chest, her nails are like claws.

“Now that I think of it, there is one thing, or rather two. I suspect that Breekon and Hope survived the explosion could you confirm this for me? They’re two deliverymen, fake cockney accents-,”

“I know who they are Sims,” Daisy says her eyes are dark and Jon knows there’s a statement there but he doesn’t push, she rolls her eyes and continues, “Want me to kill them?”

“I wouldn’t recommend attempting it on your own,” Jon replies carefully, he considers it for a long moment, “They have the Coffin with them, trust me when I say you don’t want to go in there.”

Daisy studies him like a predator studies prey before she hums, “I’ll take your word for it, Sims. Just confirm if they’re alive?”

“Yes, they’re key players in moving artefacts,” Jon replies scrubbing a hand over his face. His heart aches and he’s exhausted, sleeping in a bed that doesn’t smell like Gerry but should. An apartment that’s always been empty and yet is somehow even more so.

“Alright,” Daisy responds, her eyes narrow on Jon as she crosses her arms over her chest, “Basira told me she’s thinking of joining the Institute.”

“Yes, she mentioned it the other day,” Jon replies carefully, he feels as if he’s treading on very thin ice, “She Knows about the risks as much as I could tell her in any case. It’s her decision.”

“It is,” Daisy agrees readily, before her gaze narrows and Jon catches a flash of fangs, “But if she does decide to work here and gets hurt under your watch? I’ll kill you Sims. You understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” Jon replies carefully and Daisy nods, she tilts her head and Jon Knows she’s sniffing the air if the pleased expression is anything to go by. At this point, Jon has a healthy fear of most things.

Daisy’s hand is on the doorknob when the ground beneath their feet begins to shake. Jon freezes and tilts his head, he can’t see into the tunnels beneath the Institute but he Knows whatever it is, it’s coming through the trap door.

The door is flung open suddenly and Martin appears, he’s gasping for breath as he says, “There’s- there’s something coming up through the trap door. Looks like it might be the Flesh.”

Jon rises to his feet, he reaches into his desk and pulls out Gertrude’s old knife, there’s also a dagger there where he tucks at his side as he passes the knife to Daisy, “In the mood for a hunt?”

She grins, her mouth is full of too many teeth and her hands aren’t right where they clasp around the handle of the knife. With a nod she turns and walks out of Jon’s office, she’s followed by the sound of inhuman screaming.

Jon glances at Martin who is pale but his expression is determined, Jon glances around his office and pulls out an evidence box, inside is a bloody knife, he passes it to Martin. He studies it for a long moment before his grip tightens around it and he nods.

He feels a brief pressure, asking for permission, all the twist of the Spiral, of the Distortion and after a moment’s consideration, he allows Helen inside his domain.

They step out of his office to chaos.

Daisy has a flesh-thing pinned down, misshapen limbs, too many or not enough, Tim has Gertrude’s flamethrower and is dousing one flesh thing with flames, his eyes are like hot coals inside his skull, and there is a familiar yellow door which snaps shut around one of the flesh-things.

One comes barreling forward and with an inhale Jon steps forward and plunges the dagger into where he Knows its heart is. Jon whirls around and stabs his dagger into another thing’s chest, out of the corner of his eye he catches Martin stabbing one a few times.

He forces the Eyes beneath his skin to the surface, there’s a part of him that is screeching incoherently about the intrusion into his domain. 

The smell of burning flesh and blood fills the air as more flesh -creatures pour into his Archives. Jon sinks his dagger into the chest of another creature with a hiss and turns as out of the storage room there comes a large figure.

It’s none other than Jared Hopworth, he is _monstrous._ Utterly and truly, with limbs that bulge with too much muscle, bone, everything, and there’s too many of them. He looms over the room, each step heavy as his eyes settle on Jon.

“ _Why are you here?_ ” Jon demands, the compulsion crackling off his tongue and filling the air, the flesh-creatures pause, halted by his words.

Jared frowns, or at least that’s what it looks like as he grunts out, “Was asked to by one of you Eyes.”

“ _Why?_ ” Jon demands, the Eye flows through him, in him, with him.

“Supposed to mark you up. Sounded fun,” Jared grunts and Jon’s eyes flicker around the room, to Daisy who is dispatching a creature, Tim his shoulders shaking and smoke curling from his skin, Martin panting for breath, blood that’s not his on his jumper.

“Statement of Jared Hopworth regarding the Flesh…”

Jon begins dragging the statement from Jared with a harsh tug, it’s always harder with avatars, and glancing at the others urging them to act. Jared’s voice fills the Archives as Daisy and Tim handle the rest of the flesh things; he can even see Helen’s door opening up beneath a few.

Jared’s statement finishes and he lunges forward. Jon takes a hasty step back his hand tight around the knife when the ground shifts and _moves_ , the floor warps and twists wrapping around Jared, immobilising him no matter how much he struggles.

“I hope I’m not too late?” Sasha questions as she melts out of the ground, dirt spills from her hair and her fingers as she walks forward.

“Just in time actually,” Jon replies with a tiny smile as Sasha walks forward to study Jared.

“Mind if I drop him into the buried?” Sasha questions, the cement floor shifting and twisting around Jared, who struggles uselessly against it.

“Fine by me,” Jon responds and watches as the cement surrounding Jared shudders and slowly begins to pull him beneath the earth. Jared curses and struggles but no matter what he does the ground continues to swallow him whole.

When the floor is finally still, not a crack to show for it, Jon exhales and glances at the bodies, if they could be called that, littering the Archives.

“I can deal with those if you’d like Archivist?” Helen volunteers a door opening by his feet so that Jon can tilt his head down and stare at her, the twisting curls of her hair, the eyes that change and change.

“Thank you, Helen, I appreciate it,” Jon replies and stiffens as he suddenly Knows there is one more creature left.

Before anyone can react, Jon is moving shoving Martin out of the way as the creature lunges sinking its claws into Jon’s stomach and tearing at the tender flesh. Jon stumbles back as Helen tuts and opens a door beneath the creature swallowing it whole.

“Jon!” Martin says his eyes wide and worried as he reaches forward to place pressure on the wound.

“It’s fine Martin,” Jon says gasping through the pain as he pulls his hands away and lets Martin see the flesh knitting itself back together.

“Don’t scare me like that please, Jon,” Martin says his voice choked as the adrenaline begins to drain away. Jon glances around the room, Daisy is casually cleaning off her claws as the bodies disappear into Helen’s domain. Tim is still smoking; his hands are shaking around the flamethrower until Sasha rests her hand gently over his dousing the budding flames. Dirt smothers fire after all.

Jon exhales as the last of his flesh knits itself together, it leaves him with a livid scar and Jon sighs and leans against Martin regardless of the blood as he confesses, “I’m worried what this means.”

“We’ll be okay Jon,” Martin promises, it’s an empty promise, one neither of them can keep. But it soothes Jon nonetheless. He presses his face into Martin’s jumper before with a muffled groan he pulls back, they’ve made a mess of the Archives after it was finally starting to look close to clean too.

Tim is the one to pull the tables out of storage and line them up in the centre of the Archives, Martin gets out the cheap plastic chairs, the foldable sort that are uncomfortable to sit in for any length of time. Jon watches quietly from the archway of his office, running his fingers carefully over the new scars on his torso.

“Is Sasha still coming?” Martin questions as he sets the last chair into place and collapses into it with a small sigh. Tim glances up from where he’s settled in his own chair and with a hum replies, “Yeah, she wants to be here for this. You sure it’s safe, boss? We could always go into the tunnels.”

“It’s perfectly safe Tim,” Jon replies as he steps out of his office and settles at the head of the table, he glances at both of his assistants in kind before he continues, “The Archives are my domain, Elias nor any other entity cannot enter without my permission or a lot of power.”

“Hence the Flesh,” Tim says with a scowl glancing at where there’s still some blood staining the floors; the cleaners don’t really go into the Archives for good reason.

“How about some tea?” Martin interrupts with a tiny smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. Jon flashes him a thankful smile and Tim nods in agreement. Martin rises to his feet and bustles into the breakroom leaving the door open.

“Yes, I suppose if necessary, I could have forcefully… disarmed them,” Jon suggests carefully, studying his hands so he doesn’t have to see the emotions that might splatter across Tim’s face.

“Literally? Because they had a few limbs too many for my taste,” Tim jokes and Jon’s head whips up to catch sight of Tim’s eyes fond and teasing with an easy smile on his face. It settles something in Jon’s chest, some sign of normalcy.

Martin bustles back into the room with a few mugs of tea, he’s humming softly under his breath, God Jon loves him, as he sets a mug of tea in front of Jon, then one in front of Tim, one at an empty chair, and one for himself.

“Am I late?” Sasha questions airily as she steps through the office storage room, she brushes dirt off her shoulder with a tiny smile. Tim’s face curves up into a matching smile that’s almost sappy in nature.

“Not at all, Martin even made you tea,” Tim replies as Sasha settles at the table and slides the mug over to her. She wraps her fingers around it with a pleased smile and a nod of thanks in Martin’s direction; he blushes and mutters something in response.

“Shall we begin?” Jon questions steepling his hands in front of him on the table glancing at each of their faces for a long moment.

“What exactly is this meeting about?” Martin questions carefully, he’s staring at Jon and when he catches him looking, he blushes but doesn’t look away.

“Jonah Magnus,” Jon replies carefully and then adds, “And the Eye’s ritual.”

_Knock, Knock_

“Come in Basira,” Jon calls out, he ignores Sasha shaking her head as the door swings open to reveal Basira studying him with a dubious look. She has a few sheets of paper in her hands as she stalks inside and carefully sets them on the table, “That will be the contract then?”

“Yeah, I applied here, your boss approved it,” Basira says casually, her eyes are hard as steel as she settles in one of the plastic chairs. Martin rises to his feet with a tilt of his head in the direction of the breakroom.

“Jon are you sure this is a good idea?” Tim questions carefully, he’s studying Basira with narrow eyes.

“It’s fine, she’s made her decision, she understands the consequences,” Jon replies carefully, he wonders if the others can hear the way his chest feels sunken in. But the contract is sealed and he has a third assistant once more, “We were just going to begin Basira, you came at an excellent time.”

“Yeah, we’re discussing Jonah Magnus and the Eye ritual, great stuff for your first day,” Tim says cheerily with a hint of something sharp and biting in his tone.

Basira just nods as Martin exits the breakroom with another mug of tea which he sets in front of Basira. She nods her head in thanks and Martin smiles shakily before settling into his own seat. Jon can feel the attention of the room settling on him, all the eyes watching him.

“The first thing we should probably discuss is Jonah Magnus, Basira you weren’t there for this, but Elias Bouchard was possessed by Jonah Magnus when he became the head of the Institute, he can transfer his eyes into the body of another person and in essence become them. He seeks to enact the Eye’s ritual and gain immortality,” Jon begins, letting the words sit carefully between them and watching Basira’s eyes widen slightly.

“While we’re here can we discuss your whole family thing?” Tim questions crossing his arms over his chest as he slouches back in his seat.

“I-I’m not sure what there is to discuss really. My mother was Gertrude Robinson. It means I grew up knowing about the Entities… I- you could say my dislike of Elias is rather personal I suppose,” Jon replies feeling that familiar itch in his chest the topic of his mother always brings up.

“You said you only met her once,” Basira says quietly, she’s studying Jon, categorizing this new information. Does he seem more monstrous to her now?

“A lie, I also told everyone she was my grandmother,” Jon smiles, it is a bland smile.

“But that’s not all, not really,” Sasha protests carefully.

Jon nods with a sigh and after thinking over it for a minute he replies, “I- I guess you could say I’ve been an avatar of sorts, since before my birth. Feeding anything statements that early will do that.”

“You could have turned out worse,” Basira says in what Jon thinks might be an attempt at comfort. He appreciates it.

“I-is there anything else you’d like to know? I don’t know what I can tell you, she was very distant, not quite loving, but we loved each other in our own way. She didn’t always tell me everything.”

“No that’s good Jon,” Sasha says gently with a fond smile before she continues, “Let’s move onto the Eye’s ritual. Do you have any idea what it’s going to be like?”

“I-Yes, Martin you found some documents when you searched Elias’ office would you like to start?” Jon questions picking at the Corruption scars on his arms before glancing at Martin.

He nods and inhales before saying, “Yes, he uh had a few statements from Gertrude, ones with important information, about the Unknowing, about the Eye. All stuff that would have been helpful to know beforehand. But I uh also found correspondents? He’s very old fashioned, there was a copy of an email to Jude Perry asking for her to meet with Jon, there wasn’t any correspondence with the Buried as far as I could tell, but I think he definitely was also talking to John Amherst. I- we should also probably clarify that Leitner is most likely dead.”

“He hasn’t been in the tunnels,” Sasha responds with a shrug.

Jon presses, he tries to Know and only comes up blank, “Uncertain. I can’t Know, but that doesn’t mean much.”

“Wait,” Tim interrupts, “So, am I getting this clearly? Elias wanted you to interact with different avatars?”

“Yes,” Jon replies carefully, that single word seems to sink, heavy as a stone, he inhales and continues, “All the previous rituals have failed, for every entity that’s attempted them, for every century. There was no Gertrude Robinson throughout history. It was blamed on the wrong wording, or maybe the local hero, or the opposing entity. The problem is, they were trying to bring in a single entity, but the entities are all tied together, they blur…. I-Gerry described it as colours, blues turn to purples and so forth; it’s circular.”

“Which means you’d have to bring them all in for a ritual to work,” Basira states carefully, her lips are pressed together in a grim line.

“Yes. The last Eye ritual was the Watcher’s Crown, Jonah Magnus used the Panopticon to harness the fear of the surrounding prisoners. It almost worked, but ultimately failed, what about it was different from the other rituals?” Jon questions, feeling almost like a teacher leading a class.

“The Panopticon doesn’t just harness the Eye,” Sasha says carefully, “The tunnels were built to honour all fourteen of the fears.”

“Yes. So, what would happen if someone is marked by each of the fears if they become an Archive of fear,” Jon says carefully, the words are filled with static, they practically vibrate with the power of the Eye, of what Jon could be. He need only be marked by one more fear.

“Oh God Jon,” Martin says quietly, staring at him with wide eyes as he reaches across the table. Jon sinks his hand into Martin’s, grounds himself in the feel of his calloused hands, his warmth.

“So, what you’re going to bring about the end of the world boss?” Tim questions, he’s studying Jon with narrow eyes, he’s not imaging the spark hiding behind them.

“Not willingly,” Jon replies quietly, “But there a multitude of ways it could happen anyway. When… when I start a statement there are very few things that can pull me out of one, if he included the ritual in one of my statements… he could leave it in one of your minds for me to ‘accidentally’ Know, he could give it to one of the statement givers and send them down, there are numerous possibilities really.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Basira questions, crossing her arms in front of her chest; she’s coping well.

“You could try killing me but I doubt it would work.”

“Jon!” Martin protests at his casual tone and Jon’s expression softens in apology.

“It probably wouldn’t work it’s remarkably hard to kill an avatar,” Jon continues gently, “I- Elias is the only one who Knows the ritual in its entirety, he’s not the type to share knowledge easily. If we could… deal with him it would avert that threat, at least for a while.”

“You just said it’s quote ‘remarkably hard to kill an avatar’ boss,” Tim replies kicking his feet up on the table.

“It’s not impossible,” Jon replies carefully, “His original body is in the centre of the Panopticon, if we were to place his eyes back in that body and destroy it then there is a chance…”

“We still don’t know where it is,” Martin protests carefully.

“I can find it,” Sasha says with a shrug, there is layer of dirt trickling onto the table as she continues, “How do we destroy him though? I’m guessing Gertrude’s flamethrower won’t be enough?”

“Not unless Tim handles it,” Jon replies scrubbing a hand over his face before he continues, “We’ll need the help of a few entities for it to stick. I- the Buried is an antithesis to the Eye, it cannot See, the… the End would be helpful, and the Desolation. If I’m being honest,” Jon sighs, “Even just one of these avatars would likely be enough for it to stick. Jonah… the ritual still failed and if his eyes are returned to their original body, as long as it’s destroyed, he’ll die.”

“And how exactly are we going to do that before he gives you the ritual?” Tim questions snappily. Jon glances at his assistants, there’s fear touching their features and the air is heavy.

“I still need to be marked by the Lonely before the ritual can happen. But after that, we can try to prevent it by screening the statements as much as possible. As for Elias… I’m not certain. Any suggestions?”

“We could drug him?” Martin suggests with a weak smile.

“He would probably know,” Tim replies shaking his head, he turns to Basira, “I don’t suppose we could sicc Daisy on him?”

“It’s possible,” Basira says with a frown, she shrugs, “Is there any entity that would be willing to help us?”

“I mean I could?” Sasha says with a shrug.

Jon tilts his head, an idea settling in his mind as he asks, “Basira has Daisy found Breekon and Hope yet?”

“Not yet, why?” Basira questions.

“They carry the Coffin, an aspect of the Buried, it could be used to contain Elias or to give us more time,” Jon replies rubbing his hands carefully over his arms, grounding himself in the Archives.

“It might work,” Sasha replies, “At least temporarily, not sure if I can interact with it but I might be able to.”

“It’s a plan, not much of one but a plan,” Tim says and then adds, “In the meantime, I guess we just try to keep you away from the Lonely huh boss?”

“Yes, that would be preferable. Peter Lukas, of the Lukas family will likely be in the building for that purpose,” Jon instructs, he can already see Tim and Basira conferring on it as he adds, “That was how I got marked by the Vast.”

Before anyone can respond Martin’s, phone begins to ring, he apologises and digs his phone out of his pocket. Whoever is calling it makes Martin pale drastically as he calls out, “I need to take this sorry.”

Then he’s gone stepping outside of the Archives.

“Well we can discuss more of this later I suppose,” Tim says leaning back in his chair he glances at Jon with a raised brow.

“I-yes, thank you all. Please be careful,” Jon replies distractedly, still staring at the door to the Archives, Knowing Martin is on the other side receiving news he’s expected for far too long but still wasn’t ready for. Jon should give him some space, that’s probably what he wants.

Jon is flipping through a few statements, just idly scanning over them with the Eye humming in the back of his mind and the faint ticking of a clock in the background as he works. Jon sighs and pushes the statements to the end of his desk for a moment and glances at his door.

It’s closed, as it usually is when he’s going to read a statement, but he can’t help but wish it would open, that he could look out and see Tim talking to Sasha with Martin holding a mug of tea to his chest. But he can’t.

Sasha is in the tunnels or wherever avatars of the Buried spend most of their time, Tim is sitting at his desk contemplating a lunch break early for a few hours and glancing both at Martin’s and Sasha’s desk periodically. Basira is stepping in from the library, another stack of books in her arm as she settles at her desk, and Martin is gone on bereavement leave.

Jon hasn’t heard from him for three days and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried.

Scrubbing a hand over his face Jon sighs and pulls open his desk drawer, his eyes falling onto the skin book right next to her gun, the faint scent of something burnt still fills his office, but nothing else, no temperature drops, no teasing commentary.

Or rather no temperature drops of the End sort, Jon remarks as the Archives experience a sudden chill and Peter Lukas walks into his domain. Great. Jon rises to his feet, he can hear Basira protesting, telling Lukas to leave as he pushes open his door.

“It’s fine Basira,” Jon says, trying to ignore how tired his voice sounds, he continues, “Peter Lukas, Elias sent you.”

Peter Lukas is a large man, with broad shoulders built from a life of working on a ship, he has a thick salt and pepper beard, and his eyes are the colour of slate or concrete in the rain. The Lonely surrounds the man, wisps of fog seep from his shoes as he smiles at Jon, it is not a particularly nice smile, “Yes, thought I might meet Elias’ Archivist.”

“I’m not Elias’,” Jon replies with a roll of his eyes, “Come along then, let’s get this over with.”

“Jon are you sure?” Tim protests, he has a lighter in his pocket that his hand is hovering over and his eyes spark like the embers of a fire.

“It’s fine,” Jon replies with a sigh, he can’t put off Lukas forever; already he’s avoided this four times in the past two weeks.

Basira glances at Jon with a raised brow her hand hovering over her phone, he shakes his head. Peter’s smile widens and Jon rolls his eyes and turns walking back into his office, he can hear Peter following behind him.

The door shuts with a click behind Peter, trapping the two of them alone, with only the mists and the ever-present Eyes of the Watcher.

“I suppose you’re going to throw me into the Lonely?” Jon questions as he settles at his desk, Peter remains standing looming over Jon with a twinkle in his eyes and that damned smile.

“Oh no Archivist, I think you’re going to go there willingly,” Peter says in a pleasant tone, it is the sort of pleasant of ice on a too hot burn, or plastic that crunches and cuts beneath his hand.

“And why is that?” Jon questions carefully, he can feel the Lonely trying to wrap around him, enticing him, promising him; it is one of the more insidious fears, he’s always disliked it.

“You have an assistant, Martin, right?” Peter says musingly before he continues, “Haven’t seen him for a few days, have you?”

“Lukas,” Jon warns.

“Grief is so isolating; you know that of course, I’m sure Archivist. Remember poor Ms. Hearne? It makes us feel so alone, makes us push away our friends, our family,” Peter says his tone half smug half lecturing as he finishes, “Poor Martin felt rather… lonely after the death of his mother. I never turn down a good opportunity.”

Jon rises to his feet, the Eyes that linger beneath his skin burst open and centre on Peter as Jon commands, “ _Bring him back_.”

“I don’t think I will Archivist,” Peter replies with a faint touch of laughter crossing his arms over his chest, the picture of casual victory.

“ _Bring him back now and I won’t kill you_ ,” Jon utters the words carefully as he steps forward, the Eyes covering his body are too numerous to count, more Eyes than anything else, and they all watch Peter, they See the shiver of fear that crosses his face.

“Now Archivist you know I can’t do that,” Peter attempts to placate him, he shrugs, “Elias asked this of me.”

“ _Peter Lukas, I Know you,_ ” Jon says, the Ceaseless Watcher fills the room with the faint hum of static, or droning cicada and a light left on too late.

“I- stop,” Peter growls out, he is pale now, paler than the corpse-like tone of his flesh, and his eyes are wild and wide darting around Jon’s office as if searching for an escape. But there is no escape.

Peter took Martin, took his assistants, his partner.

“ _Ceaseless Watcher,_ ” Jon commands and takes a step forward, all his eyes are focused on Peter as he draws the power of the Eye into his body, “ _See all and Know all. You have entered the Archives, you have stolen something from me, Know and be Known. See all the suffering you have caused and Feel it.”_

Peter Lukas slumps forward, crumpling in on himself and then with a ragged cry he is gone leaving only the faint smell of the sea and the mists of the Lonely filling Jon’s office. He turns and opens his desk drawer pulls out his mother’s gun and tucks it into his pocket, in the other, he tucks the small box of ashes that once belonged to Gerry’s page. Jon pauses one hand dipping into the Lonely he closes his eyes and whispers, “I’m sorry Martin, I’m coming.”

Then he steps into the Lonely.

The Lonely is cold, a seeping, bone-chilling cold, that you don’t really notice until it’s really set in. Jon walks forward, the sand beneath his feet shifts but it doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t even leave footprints.

Jon shivers and tucks his arms around his chest trying to peer through the fog, to See through it, but it’s useless. Distantly, Jon can hear the sound of waves crashing on the shore and nothing else.

“Martin!” He calls out his name drawing on memories of sharing cups of tea in his office, curling up on Martin’s old lumpy couch watching some old cheap horror flick, getting dinner and Martin listening to him infodump.

But Martin is gone.

Sasha is gone. Or if not gone, changed because of him. And so, is Tim.

Because of Jon.

Hasn’t he always been better off alone? He couldn’t get close to any of the other children, he was too weird, knew too much, took their stories from them. Even in high school, he was the weird kid, the loner, never brought anyone home in case of his mom.

Gertrude, she loved him in her own way, but they were always distant. Wasn’t he always so lonely in that apartment? Waiting for her on long nights, wondering if she would return. Her barely concealed fear of him, did she love him back? He’s always thought she did but was it love of him or what he might be? What he represented.

He had friends in university, Georgie, his bandmates.

But were they really his friends? Maybe they just pretended to like him. He’s always been bad at opening up, always been better at being alone.

Gerry.

Gerry loves him- loved him. But he is gone. Jon could have saved him; he should have saved him. But he didn’t. Now he’s gone.

Martin loves him.

Martin.

“Martin!” Jon calls out, he has stopped moving, the fog curls around his legs. He- where is he? The Lonely, he is in the lonely. He needs to find Martin. Martin? He Knows Martin, yes, the cups of tea on his desk, soft jumpers, sage, warm hands.

Jon walks forward calling out Martin’s name, the fog swallows his words, swallows everything but the crash of the waves upon the shore.

He feels… alone, isolated. Like he could walk for miles and never stumble on another person.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

To be alone? Never able to hurt anyone, no need to consume statements. His assistants would be safe. His assistants…?

Martin.

Sasha, who he failed, who Became because of him. Wouldn’t it have been better if she never met him?

Tim who might Become, who has burn scars all over his body because of him. Wouldn’t it be better if Jon died? They would be free.

Martin.

Gerry.

They wouldn’t want him to stay here.

But Gerry is gone, truly gone.

Martin?

“Martin!” Jon calls out his name, it is tender on his lips, worship and he forces his Eyes open.

His connection to the Watcher is weak in the Lonely, obscured by the fog. But Jon can still Know.

Jon stumbles forward, the sand twisting and shifting beneath his feet, he calls out, “Martin!”

Faintly, so faint as to be a voice inside his head, “Jon!

Jon stumbles through the fog, through the thoughts that twist and swirl inside his head, eddying and shifting, telling him he is alone.

But he’s not.

Not anymore.

Tim is changed, but he still trusts Jon, he listens to him, cares for him.

Sasha has Become, but she is happy, she wants to help, she’s still Sasha.

Gerry is gone but Jon still has those memories, still has those emotions, he was loved, still loves in kind.

Martin isn’t gone, he’s right in front of him.

The fog clears, or maybe it lifts, just slightly. But Jon can See Martin, he’s standing still, so utterly still.

“Martin!” Jon calls out tripping forward over the sand, one hand settling on Martin’s cheek, it’s cold, and the other on his arm as he looks into Martin’s eyes. They are grey, the grey wisps of steam over tea.

He blinks once slowly, “Jon?”

“It’s me, I’m here,” Jon says rubs his thumb gently over Martin’s cheek, he continues, “ _Look_ at me Martin, tell me what you _See._ ”

Martin blinks, slow, languid, and the fog begins to clear from his eyes as he shakes his head, “I-I see you, Jon, I see you.”

His eyes sting as Martin’s arms wrap around him pulling him into a hug. Jon exhales, wraps his arms around Martin listens to the thump of his heartbeat as Martin whispers, “I was so alone.”

“Not anymore, I’m here,” Jon replies, carefully rubbing his hands up and down Martin’s spine, breathing in the faint scent of tea and sage. Martin pulls back, the fog has all but cleared from his eyes, it lingers though, he still looks pale; he will always bear the marks of his time in the Lonely.

“Let's go home. How do we get out?” Martin questions, looping his hands through Jon’s, familiar callouses meeting old scars.

“Follow me,” Jon says, he holds Martin’s hand tightly and leads him forward over the sand.

The Lonely tries to whisper to him, to tell him to let go, to just give up.

He keeps walking, keeps time with the sound of Martin’s breathing.

Then distantly, “Jon, you idiot!”

A voice, so familiar, one he thought he would never hear again.

“Is that…” Martin trails off, squeezing Jon’s hand as they the fog tries to press tighter around them.

Again, “Jon I Know you can hear me. Come on!”

“Yeah,” Jon say around the lump in his throat. Gerry. The fog presses tighter, tries to coax them back into the mists, into the Lonely. It has no hold on either of them any longer.

Then something new.

Jon pauses on the threshold and tilts his head, he can feel it, Jonah is calling him.

“Jon?” Martin questions gently, he is still pale, half translucent in the mists. Gerry is out there; Martin is here with him.

But they won’t be safe, they will never be safe as long as Jonah Magnus is alive.

“I’m sorry Martin,” Jon says wrapping his arms around Martin.

“Jon, what?” Martin questions and he sounds worried, there are tears on his cheeks, cold as ice as Jon wipes them carefully away.

“He’s waiting for me,” Jon explains glancing over his shoulder and into the heavy fog, he glances back at Martin, “I’ll come back, I promise.”

“Jon…” Martin stares at him with wide eyes before he shakes his head, “Come back please.”

“I will,” Jon presses a kiss to Martin’s cheek and before he can protest, he pushes Martin out of the Lonely and into Gerry’s arms.

He stands there on the edge of the Lonely for a long moment, his sight straining to See beyond the fog, to watch as Gerry, corporeal, alive, wraps his arms around Martin and tucks him against his chest; they’ll be okay.

With a final exhale, Jon turns and walks into the Lonely.

There are no creeping thoughts of isolation this time, nor whisperings about loneliness. Just the crash of the waves against a distant shore and the sound of Jon’s breath as he walks. He gathers his thoughts, the plan they had is useless, but there is still a way. His fingers brush over the gun in his pocket, then over the ashes.

Jonah doesn’t make him wait long.

Jon steps out of the Lonely and into the Panopticon. In the centre of the large circular room, the original body of Jonah Magnus lies still on an alter, across from him Elias leans against the wall with a pleased smile.

“Archivist, you’re here,” Jonah greets him pushing off the wall, the very air is heavy, pressing with the weight of the Watcher, he continues, “My perfect Archivist, you’ve done so wonderful, more than I could have hoped for.”

“I’m not your Archivist,” Jon protests as he pulls out the gun and aims it at Jonah, “I serve the Beholding.”

_Bang_

Jonah stumbles back surprise coating his face as his hand comes up to rest against his chest where the bullet pierced it, blood leaks between his fingers as he chuckles, “My I’m surprised Jon, you Know it will take more than that to kill me.”

“Do you Know who taught me to shoot a gun?” Jon questions as he walks forward, his footsteps echo, and he can hear Jonah calling him, enticing him to peer into his mind and Know the words to that which will end the world.

Jonah raises a brow and replies, “No, Jon I don’t.”

Jon shoots Jonah again and says, “That was for my mother.”

“Your mother died in a car accident Jon,” Jonah says warily, confusion is beginning to dawn, his face is twisted up in pain as blood begins to pool on the floor.

“She died when you shot her,” Jon replies, he watches realisation spill over Jonah’s features, sees the moment where the Eye allows him to See.

Jon shoots him in the space between his eyes.

For a long moment, there is silence. Jon should feel some kind of catharsis, a sense of finality, mostly he just feels empty. Maybe he will feel safe when this is all over. He kneels beside the corpse of Elias Bouchard and guided by the Watcher pulls out the Eyes of Jonah Magnus.

A thought trickles in, tempting, twisting, to put those Eyes inside his own body, to See what he saw and Know what he knew.

Jon turns and walks carefully up the dais, the Eye which watches, and sees, and Knows all that surrounds him.

The body of Jonah Magnus is aged, weathered, like a mummified corpse, it is still and does not move when Jon sets the Eyes of Jonah Magnus into their original body. Static crackles, filling the air, humming, buzzing, like the moments before a storm finally breaks.

Jonah Magnus opens his Eyes and Knows all, he Sees all.

Then his body crumbles to dust.

The very foundation of the Panopticon begins to shake, dust falls from the ceiling in heavy torrents.

It’s done.

Jon Knows this with utter certainty as he steps away from the dais. He will not take Jonah’s place, he will let the Panopticon crumble, the tunnels which hold up the Institute are Sasha’s domain now, Basira will make a good Head of the Institute. Tim will finally be free, but he’ll stay and help Basira, charm their donors while she terrified them.

The employees of the Institue will need time off but they'll live.

Gerry and Martin will be okay.

Chunks of stone fall in great heaving crashes upon the floor, they shatter upon impact filling the room with dust, blinding his sight.

Jon smiles and closes his Eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, it was really fun getting to all the different interactions. Comments are always super appreciated! The epilogue should hopefully be up soon ta!


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I'm here with the final chapter! A huge thank you to everyone who's commented on this fic and stuck with it, I've had a lot of fun exploring this concept and these characters. Hopefully, you'll all enjoy this epilogue, read on!

Gerry shifts in between dreaming and waking in between one moment and the next, he’s suddenly aware of the sheets cold beneath him, he’s always cold death will do that to you, missing Martin’s warmth. For a long moment, Gerry doesn’t open his eyes, just listens to the faint hum of the generator and a clock ticking off the hours.

When he opens his eyes, he’s met with an empty bed, the sheets thrown off in a hurry, and the apartment empty.

The red light of the clock blinks a blurry three something in the morning and Gerry sighs and pushes himself up scrubbing a hand through his hair. It’s still weird to be corporeal even months later, to not have to focus on pushing his hair between his fingers or his appearance; he doesn’t know how many times he’s walked into something thinking he’ll float through it.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Gerry sways for a moment before he rises to his feet scrubbing a hand over his face, he awkwardly tugs a jacket on. The Captain, curled at the foot of the bed lets out an indignant chirp.

“I know, sorry sweetie,” Gerry says with a shake of his head patting his pockets for his pack of cigarettes as he leans down and presses a kiss to their cat’s forehead. Walking through their apartment so early in the morning is strange, everything looks unfamiliar, distorted, but it’s not the supernatural sort of distortion, not really.

The tubes are running this early, but their apartment isn’t that far from the Institute. Martin insisted after everything and Gerry was happy to invest in having a proper place of his own for once in his life. 

He tugs out a cigarette with a frown jamming it between his lips as his other hand pulls out Jon’s lighter. It’s heavy in his hands and in the early morning light the gold of it seems to flicker and shimmer, “Lot of good you did huh?”

He mutters with a huff before flicking it and pressing it to the cigarette. It’s cold so early in the morning and Gerry is almost regretting deciding to walk except it gives him a few moments to gather his thoughts.

This isn’t the first time its happened and it probably won’t be the last.

Gerry understands, he’s probably the only other person who really understands. So, he doesn’t mind waking up at all hours of the night to an empty bed; or rather he only minds a little bit.

The Institute looms before him, the building still looks as ornate as the first time he saw it, Mary standing at his side. But now, it just looks abandoned, most of the staff stayed on, but Basira’s also limited the hours at the Institute.

Gerry stubs out the cigarette beneath his feet and enters the room, he nods to Sarah, Lisa’s cousin, who waves with a sympathetic smile. Nodding, Gerry makes his ways down to the Archives.

It’s quiet in the basement, artefact storage has been going through an overhaul and is all but abandoned these days; the Archives aren’t much different. Technically, they’re all still assistants, though it’s hard when there’s no Archivist. For the most part, they just file the statements.

There’s a light on in the Archives and Gerry shakes his head with a sigh as he steps inside, the feeling of being Watched settles like a comforting blanket around his shoulders as he enters the storage room.

The trap door is open.

Gerry climbs down into the tunnels; they echo around him as he walks the route that is by now well-known. He wonders if Sasha is staying with Tim or if she is somewhere in these walls.

In the aftermath of the collapse, which they could all feel up in the Archives, they removed as much rubble as they could. They found nothing and left behind a small clearing surrounded by broken stone.

Martin is leaning against one of the collapsed pillars, his head tilted back, he blinks when he sees Gerry with a sad little smile and says, “Sorry did I wake you? Couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s fine,” Gerry replies with a shrug stepping into what remains of the Panopticon. It still gives him chills just to step into the room as he settles beside Martin on the hard floor, “You know you’re not going to find anything.”

“I-I know… I just,” Martin pauses with a sigh scrubbing his hand over his face, “I just can’t give up hope. He promised he would come back.”

Gerry sighs and wraps an arm around Martin tucking him against his chest as he says, “Sasha didn’t find anything down here, she searched everywhere.”

“I know, even Daisy couldn’t smell him,” Martin responds, it’s almost a ritual at this point, this confirmation of facts. Martin leans his head against his shoulder and asks, “You still can’t sense him?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean… you know it doesn’t always work like that,” Gerry replies carefully, he’s still figuring out what being an avatar of the End means. He talked to Oliver Banks about it afterwards, but well Gerry doesn’t see death like that.

“I-I know Gerry… I just miss him,” Martin confides quietly before he continues, “I can’t help but feel he’s still alive. The Archives are still standing, shouldn’t they be gone if he is? I- he can’t just be gone.”

“Martin,” Gerry says softly, he turns and presses a kiss to the crown of Martin’s head, “I want him back too.”

He wipes at his eyes, “It took a while for you to come back as well, maybe he’s just waiting for the right time, a sign.”

“Like what?” Gerry questions, half-curious, half just listening to Martin.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s an Arthurian kind of deal? He’ll return when the world needs him?” Martin says mostly joking with a little grin tucking up the corners of his lips.

“I don’t think Jon would make a very good Arthur, he’s more of a Merlin,” Gerry responds with a little huff of laughter, reaching out to lace his fingers with Martin’s as he continues, “He’ll come back when it suits him. He’s like a cat.”

“He is,” Martin agrees with a shake of his head, reaching up with one hand to wipe away the tears, “Maybe he’s lost. Maybe he can’t find his way back to us.”

“How would we help him find us then?” Gerry questions, the words sit with a sudden heaviness between the two of them, tangible in a way nothing else has been. They’ve both spent hours searching through statements for anything only to come up with nothing.

“I don’t know, talk to him? That what he did for me in the Lonely, and what you did for us,” Martin replies carefully, he frowns, “I’ve been doing that plenty though, telling him about my day, our research.”

“Yeah but I wasn’t here,” Gerry teases, once it might have been a sore spot between them, who Jon loved the longest, but now it’s just banter.

“Well we can both talk to him,” Martin says with a raised brow and Gods Gerry is weak for him.

“Fine, I don’t even know where to begin,” Gerry replies with a shake of his head, glancing at the rubble surrounding them.

Martin laughs shaking his head as he rolls his eyes, “Hello is a very good place to start.”

“Fine… uh hi, Jon, we didn’t really get to talk after came back, I’ve always been angry about that. You were supposed to be there and you weren’t. I understand why Jonah Magnus had to be dealt with, but I wanted to see you again, to hold you in my arms. I’m sure you Knew that I was corporeal… but I wanted to touch you, actually hug you again. I guess I’m an avatar of the End now, it’s a bit different from the others, I don’t really need to feed it, sometimes I-uh haunt people, I guess? It’s hard to explain, but I’m like the embodiment of the fear of those who died coming back to haunt you or something,” Gerry scrubs a hand through his hair, “That good?”

Martin nods with a pleased smile and picks up where he left off, “The Institute has been quiet without you, from the notes you left with Gertrude it looks like there won’t be another ritual for a while. I’ve already told you how good of a team Basira and Tim made? I get the feeling you already Knew that though. Daisy pops by sometimes, she’s back to hunting criminals again, I think she caught a serial killer the other day. Helen still pops by every now and then, I think she’s a bit lonely, but she helps with statements sometimes. We uh got a cat- I didn’t tell you that last time. Her name is the Captain, she’s a very good cat, a tabby. We uh miss you, Jon. You promised me you would come back… please come back.”

Silence.

Martin sighs burrowing his head in Gerry’s shoulder for a minute before he rises to his feet, he extends a hand to Gerry with a tiny fractured smile and says, “Come on, we can still steal a few hours before we have to go in. It’s not like Basira will dismiss us for being late.”

“Yeah that sounds good,” Gerry says as they pause in what remains of the doorway, Gerry tips his head, “Bye Jon. Come back to us soon okay? Love you.”

“Goodbye Jon,” Martin says one hand lingering on the stone before he turns to leave.

_Crack_

They both pause, waiting, wondering if it was just a figment of their imagination, just the rubble shifting and settling once more. But again, the sound of something cracking reaches their ears. Martin is the first to turn to step back into the Panopticon, Gerry trails behind him one hand hovering over the lighter in his pocket.

At first, the rubble looks unchanged, but with a shift, Gerry can see a hand peeking out of the rubble marked with a familiar burn scar. Martin sinks to his knees and Gerry mimics the motion as they carefully dig the rubble away.

They move slowly, careful to not disrupt too much of the rubble, as they slowly uncover Jon’s arm, his chest, his head, the rest of his body until he’s lying in the open his eyes closed.

He looks… he looks the same, the same scars, the same long tangled hair, though matted with dust, his chest rises and falls gently, barely visible. Martin has tears streaking down his cheeks and Gerry can’t quite catch his breath as Martin whispers, “Jon.”

Gerry carefully wipes away the dust on Jon’s cheek, trailing his fingers over the scars the Unknowing left behind. Jon startles violently, coughing and sucking in heaving gasps before his eyes flick open.

Martin cannot stifle his gasp and Gerry can only stare shocked to the marrow at the sightless eyes which greet them. Jon blinks and tilts his head searching sightlessly until he shifts and Martin rests his hand on his cheeks.

“Jon,” The name trips from Gerry’s lips and he watches as a tiny smile slips across Jon’s features. He looks… content. In a way, Gerry has never seen, weighed down by his service to the eye, by his parentage.

“Hello, I’m sorry it took so long,” Jon says quietly, his voice is cracked with disuse as he leans into the warmth of Martin’s hand and wraps his own around Gerry’s cold hand.

“Your eyes,” Martin says quietly, the words sit heavy and hurting in Gerry’s chest.

Jon just nods one hand trailing underneath his eyes, over the Unknowing scar, as he replies, “I made a deal with the Eye,”

“Are you- are you free?” Gerry questions, he knows what his father did to escape the Archives.

Jon bites his lip, the gesture is so familiar that he could cry, Jon hums and replies, “Of a sort. I am still the Archivist I cannot change that, but… we’ll be safe for a while. I-I’m not completely blind.”

The Eyes that linger beneath Jon’s skin peel open, staring at the two of them before with a wink they are gone, the one in the centre of Jon’s forehead is the last to disappear. Gerry surges forward, tugging Martin with him, as he pulls the two of them into a hug.

Martin lets out a sob and whispers, “Never do that again Jonathan Sims.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Jon says and he means it.

Gerry tightens his hold around them and just breathes them in, listens to the sound of their heartbeats. Maybe after this they’ll go back home, introduce Jon to the Captain, maybe they’ll go back to work, or borrow that cabin Basira sometimes talks about up in Scotland. For now, they have this, and that’s all they need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you liked the ending, if anyone is curious about the deal with the Eye I didn't really specific so feel free to make your own interpretations. Also, Martin mentions a cat and Jon is instantly like 80% closer lol. There is another part for this series coming out soon so keep your eyes peeled its sort of from Martin's perspective. Comments are always appreciated, thank you all for reading!!


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